


[Makios Fic Collection]

by doitsuki



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Alien Culture, Anal Sex, Angst, Authority Figures, Coming of Age, Drabble, Draenei, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Ficlet, Kink, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Power Dynamics, Rough Body Play, Unhealthy Relationships, Weight Gain, Whump, Worldbuilding, domestic abuse, idk its just a bunch of random bullshit stories about my ocs, so yeah enjoy lmao., space travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-01-04 17:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsuki/pseuds/doitsuki
Summary: Bunch of random stories about a soft little Draenei priest, Makios. Basically me having fun with a bunch of OCs lmao enjoy!!!!Most of the chapters are bits n pieces of his life experiences but there's some smut in there too





	1. Mac'Aree

**Author's Note:**

> I'll fix the chapters to be in chronological order once I get this shit together LOL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning, where shit all started going down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also drew some art I hope you like it xD

 

Mac’Aree was burning to the ground before Velen’s eyes. He watched from the Genedar’s shielded deck, frail hands pressed up against the glass. Unnatural green fire rained from the sky, demonic rifts rending what had been a pure vista of stars just hours before. Winged creatures larger than any Eredar stomped pristine gardens to ash, while countless innocent citizens were unwillingly corrupted. They were becoming Man’ari under the influence of Fel, a magic Velen was ill-equipped to combat in such force. No, according to K’ure he had to flee. But there was still time for others to join him in escape, and he prayed for them all.

Ancient buildings were being consumed from floor to ceiling in felfire. Those that were not warded crumbled to dust, namely most of Mac’Aree’s western district where unassuming Eredar were taken hostage, tortured, chased and killed. Among these there was a family of three, a mother healing what wounded she could find while her husband urged her to flee, their six-year-old child in his arms.

“ _Soran_ , please.” Vekuun’s golden eyes darted about, his armored form hunched to protect their son, Makios, from falling rubble. “You have to go.”

Aelaani hissed under her breath, light shining at her fingertips. “And let these people die? We have lived here for _centuries_ , there are-”

“I know!” Vekuun snapped, his hoof grinding into the shattered pavement. Makios whimpered softly, afraid of his father’s anger. “I know. And we will die too if we remain. The ship-”

“Don’t worry.” Aelaani gave him a sharp salute. “I’ll make it. Now _you_ …” She pointed at his crest, bestowing a sigil of protection there. “Grab the rest of your lads and move your ass. I’ve still got work to do.”

Vekuun gazed at her, stricken. She could only nod firmly and sprint off, shields blazing in layers of holy strength around her body. He wanted to give chase, to try again to convince her they _needed_ to go together, but there was no time, and he had his orders. Round up all the paladins he could find and establish a shield wall of sorts to protect the squishier citizens. Yet duty-bound as he was, the only thing on his mind was his family.

“Cover your ears,” he said to Makios. “I’ve got you.” The boy peered up at him, little white hands clutching Vekuun’s gold-plated forearm. And then the Vindicator jolted forth, hooves crashing against hot stone as he ran through the streets.

“SHIELDS! PEACKEEPERS! VINDICATORS, TO ME!” he roared, swiveling his head left and right in a frantic survey of the area. Chaos reigned with Eredar running around and demons pouring from the sky, imps throwing fire into people who had their backs turned. The few who heard his call made haste towards Vekuun, desperate for some sort of leadership.

“Keep a loose spread, round up the soldiers.” Vekuun growled. “We’re covering a retreat.”

“What of the civilians?” asked Jahaan, a well-known face to the senior Vindicator. “Will we not-”

“They will find their way to the ship in time. We need our defenses up, fighting form, all of you.” Vekuun’s words came sharply as if he could hardly breathe – this sort of stress wasn’t good for his heart, and neither was running at such speed. His tendrils bounced about, whacking the top of Makios’s head.

“Da,” Makios said as he was squeezed close to Vekuun’s chest. “Da…?”

“Shh, shh, we’re alright.” Vekuun was nearly out of breath as the group passed through an arch, into one of the district’s administration buildings. The floor had split throughout and crushed tiles littered the place, narrow ledges of rock jutting out of the ground. Vekuun chanced a look down and saw green magma bubbling several feet below, a horrible acrid stench rising.

“Single file!” He hovered by the archway, gesturing with his head for the straggling soldiers and few civilians to hurry. “Watch the ground!”

“You too.” Jahaan tugged at his arm the moment there was nobody left to escort. “C’mon.”

Vekuun didn’t move, his face turned towards outside. Jahaan pulled on his tail this time and leaned over to see a black-robed creature with a skull for a face floating towards them.

**_“C’MON!”_ **

Vekuun twitched, shaking himself free from the grip of terror. He pushed Jahaan with his crest to run before him and he followed closely behind, an odd tingling in his arms. It was… different to exhaustion, and his head felt heavy as did his limbs.

“Ja--” Vekuun gasped, trying to raise his voice. The demon was behind him, now, reaching with clawed hands to cast a spell. “Jahaan-”

Jahaan turned to see a fierce blast of energy pulse through Vekuun’s skull and completely obliterate his face, blue blood showering down. His arms went limp and Jahaan dove to grab Makios, who took one look at Vekuun and _screamed_. Jahaan tossed up a ward spell behind him and bolted out of there, clutching the wailing child to his chest. Makios fought awfully hard kicking and scratching for Jahaan to let him go, but the Vindicator was much stronger and carried him out into the chaos. On this side of Mac’Aree there were portals held open by several magi, the Conservatory’s finest working to offer salvation. A steady stream of Eredar fled through the portals and in went Vekuun’s group of soldiers, forgetting to stand their ground without their leader telling them to. Noble as they were, instinct had taken over and it was definitely a unanimous flight response.

On the Genedar, its many halls and levels were full of terrified Draenei, most on their knees in prayer as K’ure beamed restorative Light to them all. Jahaan finally dropped Makios and grabbed him by the back of his collar, shaking him.

“Cut it out! We’ve got to find your mother!”

“Daaaaaaaaaaaa…” Makios clawed at Jahaan, sobbing incoherently. Jahaan stared at him – the boy had barely grown his crest, let alone the ability to speak, yet there was agony in his eyes so profound it struck him silent. A nearby priest recognized them both and approached, levitating so as not to step on anyone’s tail.

“She’s not here.” he said softly. “Anchorite Aelaani.”

“Shit.” Jahaan grit his teeth. “Vekuun’s dead. What’re we supposed to do?”

“We wait.”

 

It was hours before the ship launched off into the Twisting Nether, leaving Argus behind. Jahaan and the priest Ravius went around asking until finally they came across Aelaani, sitting in a corner surrounded by her fellow Anchorites. She glanced up, hearing heavy hoofsteps and at once held out her arms. Wordlessly Jahaan handed over Makios and Aelaani cuddled him close, tears trickling down her pale cheeks.

“Maki,” she whispered. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe…”

Makios tried to look at her as Aelaani ran her fingers through his soft curly hair, petting him soothingly. With his face pressed to her chest, he sniffled. This was familiar, his mother, gentle and warm. He chewed at her breast, wanting to hide. It was terrifying being surrounded by so many loud men and women in armor, but here he felt an instinctual safety. Nothing was all that scary when his mother was here.

 Aelaani looked up at Jahaan, then to Ravius. Her eyes requested her mate. Jahaan turned his face away, and Ravius lowered his head. Aelaani understood, and closed her eyes.

It was just her and Makios, now.


	2. Oh no (part 1) [M/F]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complex characters or just lazy writing? DUN DUN DUNNNN....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: it gets a little creepy

It was an interesting life they lived, on the Genedar. The dimensional fortress was entirely self-sustaining, with three Naaru on board and almost half of Argus’s Eredar population. There were sections dedicated to all manner of purposes, such as cultivating food and breeding livestock. Jobs existed for everyone, a cohesive effort made by the Eredar (now Draenei) to continue their race’s survival. There was always something to do, whether it was processing raw materials or scribing millenia worth of knowledge into handcrafted tomes… And of course, adjusting to life on an enclosed vessel that had not yet landed on a hospitable planet. Some were getting antsy, the stargazers and magi sorely missing Argus’s natural clime. There was nothing to mine, little to study, just the vastness of the Twisting Nether few understood how to navigate.

It had been five years since the escape from Argus. None had died though many wished they could, a collective grief having settled over the Draenei. Aelaani was ill-equipped to process the loss of her husband, having never lost anyone in her entire life. She’d been unable to find her parents and presumed them to be dead, too, a weight on her soul she could not shake. She tried to channel the Light to calm herself, to fill her heart with the peace and happiness she once knew, but it would not come. Certainly, she could use the Light to heal others, but within herself it answered only in vague suggestions as to what she could do with herself. To be selfless, relinquish her hold on her memories and serve.

Aelaani could not. She clung, instead, to what formed her world, anchored her to reality and kept her sane. Makios. She found routine and satisfaction in caring for him, in seeing his sweet little face light up whenever she brought out a sugary treat or made up some good news. On the rare occasions that he looked lonesome, when his eyes did not shine, Aelaani was struck by such powerful distress that she just _had_ to comfort him. Her heart ached to see him in pain, or upset, or anything less than content. Makios was a needy little thing and she _adored_ him, wanting no life other than one at his side, seeing him grow into a happy and healthy Draenei. Ever did he stick by her side, and Aelaani only encouraged it.

Tonight, for example, they were enjoying a lazy afternoon together. A news program played on their holographic television, Aelaani paying half an ear to it while Makios snoozed in her lap. She gazed down at him, running her fingers along the backward sweep of his left horn. He looked so much like his father, eerily so with the same skin, crest, horns and tendrils. Even his eyes glowed with burgeoning holy strength and his hair had that same feathery soft texture. He did bear some resemblance to her, however. Aelaani’s touch drifted through his hair, down his back to rest over one hip. He wasn’t exactly grown yet, but there was a peculiar curve to him that seemed quite girlish to Aelaani’s eyes. She inspected his tail, gently picking it up. Long for his age, quite thick at the base. _There_ was something more masculine about him. Makios shifted then, making a long, low sound.

“Oh…?” Aelaani stroked his tail along the soft plating. “Is my baby boy waking up?”

“Mmnnn…” Makios half rolled over, peering up at his mother. His tail flicked slightly, his tiny tendrils wiggling as he yawned. Aelaani smiled down at him.

“Aww… You’re so precious. Look, the news is starting. Want to watch?”

Makios grunted in reply, wagging his tail. “Want food…”

“Ah, of course.” Aelaani went to get up but Makios whined, too comfortable to move. “Come now, how am I going to get you something if you stay on my legs?”

“Myeeeeh…” Makios only protested even more, and Aelaani sighed.

“Right then, up we go.” She scooped him into her arms and carried him, straining somewhat. “Light, you’ve gotten big.” Pride tinted her voice.

“Nn.” Makios snuggled into her, all too happy to go on a trip to the kitchen. His mother fed him whatever he wanted, and sometimes even introduced new things to his picky tastes. Tonight he wanted meat, and so Aelaani cooked steak for both of them and cut it up into little cubes for him. While watching the news, Aelaani hand-fed him bits and pieces. His teeth were just sharp enough to do what they had to, and Aelaani was quite proud of him. Even when he nipped her, she did not mind.

“Did you like it?” she asked him, moving their shared plate to the nearby table.

“Uhuh.” Sated, Makios sat up a bit and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. Aelaani blushed, overwhelmed as ever by his eternal cuteness.

“Hmhm, and you ate it all, too. Such a good boy.” She smooched him right back, touching her crest to his. It was a gesture shared between close friends, family, lovers. To Aelaani, Makios filled every role.

Or he would in time, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where this is coming from but here it is


	3. OH NO (part 2) [M/F]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I let this fic write itself and LOOK WHAT HAPPENED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might actually sicken you i'm so sorry

The Draenei first touched down on Virena-09 two years ago, finding the small blue planet to be rich in minerals, water and air. Almost everyone on the Genedar was excited to explore it, and many scouting parties went out each day only to return with new things to study. Aelaani and Makios were not among them, the two staying within the Genedar for ‘safety reasons’. Aelaani did not trust this planet, nor did she trust any other. Argus had been their home, their life, the safest and most beautiful world in the galaxy. And out of nowhere, Sargeras had come. He could come again, or his demons, the Burning Legion. Aelaani would _not_ be caught unawares away from the shielded Genedar.

Makios, however, had other ideas. At twenty-two years of age, he was just old enough to be curious about the world while also being able to accurately express himself.

“Mom, can’t we go out for a little bit?” Makios leaned on the kitchen table, beseeching his mother to consider his request. “It’s so _bright_ outside!”

“It’s plenty bright inside, too.” Aelaani summoned a bit of holy energy to prove this, light tingling in her palm. Makios rolled his eyes.

“Sunlight, mom, not Light-light! I can’t remember the last time I felt the sun.”

“That’s because Argus didn’t _have_ one.” Their homeworld had been illuminated in daily cycles by changes in the atmosphere, a Nether quirk of sorts. “And what do we know about suns? They’re giant balls of volatile energy that burn your eyes out.”

“Balls.” Makios snorted. “I’m not gonna _look_ at it.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Aelaani stalked around the table, her hooves clicking against polished tiles. “Put yourself at risk out there, stand around like a target?”

“There’s nothing dangerous out there-”

“How do you _know_ that?” She stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his soft belly, protective. “I won’t ever be able to forgive myself if I let you outside and something happens to you.” Aelaani nuzzled into Makios’s neck, breathing in sharply. “Oh, Maki…”

“Mooooooooooooommmmm…” Makios squirmed, heat rising in his cheeks. “C’moooon. I’m _bored_ staying home all the time.”

“You’re bored, is that it?” Aelaani drew a hand up to tug on Makios’s two tendrils, hanging from his chin. He shivered, seeming to lose his voice. Her hand at his stomach squeezed, a little possessive. “Why don’t we have some fun?”

Makios grunted softly. “Don’t… don’t wanna.” He lifted his tail up, Aelaani trapping it between her thighs.

“Oh?” Aelaani chuckled. “Are you sure about that…?”

“Lemme go…” He tried to smack at her with his tail, gentle as always, but Aelaani rocked her hips against him and sighed into his ear.

“Maki…” she whispered. “Look what you’ve done.” More seductive than accusatory, her voice was a quiet, suggestive purr. Makios could feel a pulse from where his mother held his tail, and it was certainly _very_ warm there. Aelaani let go of his tendrils, her hand moving between their bodies to grasp the base of Makios’s tail. “Come now, there’s a good boy…” Her other hand slipped into the flimsy breeches Makios had on, the fabric nearly see-through from their tightness. Makios jerked his body away, wincing at the pull on his tail.

“I don’t wanna.” The displeasure in his voice gave rise to a multitude of emotions within Aelaani, namely anger, confusion and fear.

“Makios.” She released his tail, hand still in his breeches. Her fingers closed around his length, perverse joy lighting up in her mind. “Why not?”

“N-nn…” He tensed, in quite a vulnerable position almost bent over the table. Aelaani only started stroking him, her fingers knowing this task well. He hardened at her touch, mouth falling open. “Oohhnn…”

“There we go.” Aelaani encouraged him softly, rutting against him with his tail pressed up nice and close to her core. She was slick, aching, but entirely focussed on her son’s pleasure rather than her own.

Makios did not exactly want this, having wished to go outside for what seemed like eternity. His body felt good enough, that much was true, but somewhere in his mind, it felt _wrong._ He had never been taught this, no. He didn’t understand _why_ his first reaction to his mother’s affections of his sort was to resist. It was only another way of expressing love, was it not? And his mother loved him very, very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dear god put it back


	4. Love at First Sight [M/F]

It had been a few hundred years since the Legion’s coming when Makios first saw her, golden sunbeams illuminating her buttery hair. They were on the scorching planet of Kerraxis and there she stood, clad from head to hoof in polished plate armor. He approached with curiosity and just a little bit of awe.

“Keeping watch?”

She turned to him, bright blue eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “Yes.”

“Your posture is excellent.” He tried to be smooth, he really did, but had never been all that good at approaching people. “And your hair, Light, how lovely and straight!”

The watcher’s soft cheeks flushed purple, her posture relaxing minutely. Turning her upper body towards Makios, she cracked a smile.

“You’re distracting me, in a good way. What’s your name?”

“Makios.” He glanced around, not seeing any threats on the horizon. “And it seems a little distraction wouldn’t hurt. Who are you?”

“Miuuri. _Vindicator_ Miuuri to you.”

“Oh! A Vindicator! I should have guessed, what with the armor and all.” Makios gestured aimlessly, flapping his tongue without any idea where he wanted this conversation to go. Miuuri scanned their surroundings –parched red rock as far as she could see– and leaned against the hull of the Genedar.

“What do you do, kid?”

Makios flinched at that, nearly twice Miuuri’s height but suddenly feeling rather small.

“I’m a priest, and I’m not a kid. Three _hundred_ years old!”

Miuuri snorted, gesturing to herself with a finely manicured hand. “Three thousand. And we’ve plenty who are even older. You’re a kid.”

“Mnneeeeeghh…” Whining, Makios curled his tail back and forth in apparent distress. As if to soothe him Miuuri laughed and shook her head.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. You any good at your priestly business?”

“I-I try.” Makios placed both hands together, gentle holy energies seeping through the cracks between his fingers. Miuuri watched as a white-gold flower bloomed in the priest’s now upturned palms, and whistled.

“Nice.”

“Here.” He offered it to her and she accepted with a smile, gazing at the glowing petals before tucking the flower behind one ear. Makios found himself staring at the delicate point, his gaze roving up into her hair and at the clean, sharp edges of her crest.

“Hey.” Miuuri beckoned, patting the smooth surface beside her. “You wanna keep distracting me for a bit? Duty’s not all that interesting when there’s nothing to see all day.”

“Sure!” Makios stood beside her, leaning against the Genedar despite it being uncomfortably hot. He shifted his shoulders about, flexed his fingers, and sighed. It was then that he caught Miuuri staring at him closely. She raised a hand with eyes fixed on a point he couldn’t quite identify, so intense was her gaze.

“I haven’t seen these on a guy before.” She traced along one curving horn, Makios feeling her touch along the ridged, living bone. “But you’re no lady.” Miuuri knocked on his crest none too gently, and Makios tried not to wince.

“Heh, uh, I guess.” He coiled a tendril around one finger, fidgeting with it. The sensation distracted him from a growing anxiety in the pit of his stomach, working its way up to clutch at his chest. _‘Do I look strong enough? I want to impress her. She’s so cool, and beautiful, and she must be powerful to wear that kind of armour… Maybe I should try to act more mature. Talk like the Prophet or something.’_

“What do you want to do with your life?” Miuuri petted his hair as she spoke, the motion of her lips fluid around each word. “I’d advise against becoming _too_ priestly. You wouldn’t want to hinge your life and sanity on unexpected hallucinations all day.”

Makios blinked, processing what he could. “Uh… what? I haven’t heard of the Light making people do that.”

“Well, look at our beloved Prophet.” Miuuri shrugged, an eye-piercing sunbeam glinting off one of her pauldrons. “He sits in his chambers all day, presumably looking for answers to questions we don’t even have yet, and when he comes out he just looks so _sad_. Not a nice life to live, if you ask me. Where’s the passion? The glory?”

“It will come.” said a voice from beside them, and Makios leaned forwards to see a massive armored male exit the Genedar’s side entrance. He came around Miuuri’s left and saluted, both hands in front of his broad chest. Miuuri returned the gesture with one hand and pushed herself to a proper standing position.

“Shift’s over. C’mon, kid.” She walked into the ship with all the confidence of a born leader, and Makios followed along as she knew he would. Miuuri had lived long and known many. She knew when her prey was caught.


	5. How does it work? [F/M] 18+

It was a humid evening on the Genedar’s observation deck, thick glass separating the enchanted dome from the outside world. Acid rain pattered down and streaked along the ship’s thin weather shield, pink and yellow droplets bursting upon contact. Makios had no idea how long he’d been sitting here, perched on a flat piece of crystal with a thick purple leaf hanging over his head. A few glowing beads of condensation trickled down the leaf and onto his scalp, melting into his soft curly hair. He did not mind.

His gaze went beyond the deck’s decorative plantlife and into the distance, where he could see Tarrach’s trees reaching up into a heavy grey mist. Occasionally green lightning would lance across the sky and Makios’s keen eyes traced every bolt, unwilling to be surprised by the Legion. Logic told him they would come eventually, and that there was no use worrying over the inevitable. Fear kept him watching, waiting.

His left ear twitched. Someone approached, and he knew these hoofsteps well. He remained poised, thin silken robes clinging to the gentle curves of his form and sticking where he wished they wouldn’t.

“There you are.” Miuuri stood right in front of him and clicked her fingers twice. Makios lifted his gaze, brows drawn together. “It’s late. What are you still doing out here?”

Makios blinked, considering this. He didn’t know. After a long enough silence, Miuuri sighed and shook her head, chin-length hair swaying.  
“Doesn’t matter. Come on.” She beckoned twice, then did it again three seconds later. “Makios!”

“Mhmm…” He could never move as quickly as she wanted him to, but still he tried and rose from his seat. Miuuri eyed him up and down with distaste, sighed with a little more heat and grabbed hold of Makios’s wrist. He flinched.

“Come _on_. It’s time for dinner.”

“M’ not hungry.” Makios murmured, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He’d been staring into space for so long he’d actually forgotten to blink. Luckily, the dome’s current conditions were moist enough to keep his eyes from drying out. Perhaps _too_ moist.

“Oh, that’s a surprise.” Miuuri said flatly, the sharp clack of her hooves falling into a marching rhythm as she strode with Makios by her side. It peeved her, how he dragged himself along. “But no, I won’t have you complaining at me tomorrow morning. You’ll eat something, and then bed. Alright?”

“Uhuh…” Makios really wasn’t interested in what he knew Miuuri had prepared. He could smell it on her – that strange kelp and grain combination with the overpowering tang of ginger. Light, how he hated it. But he was too tired to care. He trudged through the door to their shared home right behind Miuuri, who threw her cloak onto the couch and went over to the kitchen. Makios slumped into his seat at the table, listlessly gazing into space. His eyes still wanted to do that even though Miuuri wanted his eyes on her, on the way her shapely backside swayed as she attended to the steaming pot on the stove. The house was warm enough, but Makios felt uncomfortably stuffy and picked at his robes. Wet and sticking to his chest. Yeurgh.

“Oi.” Miuuri turned around and slid a hot bowl of kelp over to him. “Here.”

“Can I go get changed…?” he asked, face downcast and lips pursed. Miuuri scoffed.

“Should’ve thought of that before you sat down. Eat, then you can do whatever you want.”

Makios’s ears perked up at that, and he flicked the tip of his tail. _‘Whatever I want? Oooh…’_ He held his breath through each bite, the texture of his food like wet bandages coated in oil. There was no oil, butter or salt however. Nothing could make this stuff taste _good_. It was healthy, according to Miuuri, the purest example of Tarrach’s vegetation being an edible supplement to the Draenic diet. Nutritious or not, though, Makios much preferred chewing on his own nails or eating fried potato skins to this. His mind drifted as he choked down the gritty kelp. What was he going to do with his night, now that Miuuri would let him do as he pleased after dinner?

 _‘Wanna shower… yeah, and then wear something light. Have a good sleep.’_ He nodded, chewing. Miuuri was watching him, cold blue eyes calculating.

“What?” she asked. Makios blinked, looking at her.

“Mn?”

“You thinkin’ about something?”  
Makios gulped. “N…No. Miu, are you going to eat anything?”

“You think I need it?” Miuuri pulled back her lips, baring her fangs. “Do I look fat to you?”

“Eeh? No!” Makios scrunched his brows together in clear distress. “I just thought, you might be hungry…”

“Pff. It’s all for you.” She gestured to the half-empty bowl before him. “Enough of that and you’ll be looking perfect in no time.”

“Nn…” Makios ate a bit more, averting his gaze. Miuuri _was_ ever-so-concerned about his appearance, wasn’t she? She’d put him on this diet three months ago and all it had done was make him feel miserable. He’d had to hide his favourite snacks in places she never looked just to maintain a reason to live – contrary to popular belief, he could not actually survive without sugar. His body processed it into energy quicker than anything else. Much quicker than the things Miuuri fed him, for sure. On her kelp and grain diet he felt sluggish, achy, disoriented more often than not. Like he didn’t have the energy to deny her more outrageous requests, and as if he could just coast along agreeing to any and everything she said. His mind was so muddled he couldn’t even consider that she might’ve drugged his food. It didn’t matter. Now, he was done with the stuff and looked at her expectantly. Miuuri leaned over, inspected the bowl, and nodded.

“Good.”

Makios’s whole face lit up and he grinned brightly, rising to his hooves with a noisy clatter of the chair behind him. Miuuri watched him dash off to the bathroom and heard the shower running, choosing to do the dishes at that exact time without regard for how cold it made the water turn. She smirked at hearing Makios yelp.

“You alright in there?” she called, turning the taps a little. Makios mewled something incoherently in reply, his voice barely audible. Miuuri shook her head. “Fucking idiot.”

About half an hour later, she wandered in to their shared room to find Makios under the bedcovers, curled up in a nice little ball with his hair looking extra fluffy. His tail peeked out from beneath the blankets and she tugged on it sharply.

“Move over.”  
Makios rolled with a whine, and Miuuri slid in beside him after tossing her clothes aside. Her fingers quested over the softness of his waist, groping at him. Buttery smooth and ever so warm. _Comforting to the touch, but not very pleasant to look at_ , she thought. Makios seemed to be holding his breath. He exhaled after a tense moment and his whole body seemed to deflate. Miuuri dragged her nails along his stomach, resting her face in the crook of his neck.

“What’s wrong, mm?”

Makios didn’t say anything. He knew how she would act if he said he was tired – _‘you’re always tired, get over yourself!’_

Miuuri wasn’t taking that for an answer, though, and threw a leg over him. Or at least she tried to – his thighs and tail were piled on each other in such a way that Miuuri had to stretch far too much. She kicked him.

“Come on, fatass. Talk to me.”

“Wanna sleep…” Makios muttered, his voice high and strained.

“Already?” Miuuri scoffed, taking a bite out of his neck. “S’ only 9:30.”

“Nyeeeh…” Makios curled his tail between his legs, squeezing his eyes shut. That _hurt_ , and now an unpleasant sensation prickled around his whole body in anticipation of another sharp nip. Miuuri dipped her hand below his stomach to his crotch, and pinched his dick between two fingers.

“You wanna have a little fun?”

“Noooo…” Makios shifted his thigh to dissuade her but she forced it back down, gripping his length.

“C’mon. Everyone loves a good go. What’s wrong with you?”

It reminded him of his mother, the way she touched him, spoke to him in moments like this. Something felt _wrong_ , like a clawing up the sides of his neck and a terrible strain in his lower body. He clenched his buttocks, tail quivering from how hard he tensed the muscles. Miuuri started to stroke him, whispering against his skin while he had his ears flattened against his head, drooping a bit.

“We’ve been together so long. It’s about time we got a little… handsy, eh?”

“Miu, I don’t wanna.” Makios protested weakly, pulling his hands close to his chest and curling in on himself. But Miuuri stuck to him, her nude form heated against his back, and rubbed herself against his backside.

“Why not? She parted her legs, squeezing what she could of his tail against her clit. “Mh… You’ve got plenty to give. Roll over.” She tugged at his cock and he whimpered, obeying just to get her to ease up. Makios now lay on his back, tail curled protectively around his bits and pieces while Miuuri crawled atop him, predatory. She peeled back the blankets, throwing away what warmth had collected beneath them. Makios shivered at the sight of her sitting on him, and she forced his legs apart.

“M-M-Miu, I’ve never… done this before…” he stuttered, but she wasn’t listening and gave him a firm slap on the belly.

“You shut up and enjoy this.” She yanked his tail out of the way, nails digging into the sensitive appendage. At the sight of his huge but flaccid length, she snarled. “Ain’t even hard. What a joke.”

“Miu, please…” Makios had tears in his eyes, heart racing from fear alone. What if he couldn’t please her? Would she leave him? How would he survive on his own? “I-I’m not…”

“What?” She glowered down at him, hands pressed to his stomach and breasts hanging before his eyes. “You don’t like the way I look? You got a fucking _problem_ with--”

“Miu!!” Makios covered his face with his arm, thicker than Miuuri’s thighs. “I’m not ready…”

“Well hurry up, because _I_ am.” Miuuri began to touch herself, one hand on Makios and the other between her legs. A slick sound came from the circular motions of her two fingers, and Makios stared, not knowing what he was looking at. He didn’t _feel_ anything exciting at the sight of her, nor the sound of her quickening breaths and sharp tone. Rather, he was so deathly afraid of underperforming that he couldn’t find a hint of arousal in his body at all, and instead had a cold, shivery feeling in his chest. He watched her get off, terribly uncomfortable, and all he could think was _‘I don’t like this. I don’t. I don’t.’_

But he could not for the life of him figure out how to get away from his current predicament without ruining his relationship with his fickle lover, and lay motionless as Miuuri began to rut against his soft, ridged cock.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” Miuuri hissed as her body ached for hardness within but got only a limp meat stick to play with. “Can’t even get hard for me. What’s the matter with you? You gay or somethin’? Want a big damn Shieldbearer to ream you in the ass?”

The image flashed across Makios’s mind and in that moment, no, he didn’t want that at all. But he thought about one of the male Guardians that often patrolled near the Genedar’s observatory, a stern, kind fellow by the name of Vekorius. Pale and blonde like himself, with a slightly hooked nose and square jaw. A prime example of Draenic masculinity. His face floated in Makios’s mind and in truth it was much more pleasant to focus on than Miuuri’s scowl, so Makios clung to it with all his might. His hands drifted about near his chest, unconsciously hugging himself while Miuuri tried to ride him. He wondered about Vekorius. He’d never spoken to the man but they’d exchanged glances once or twice, Makios usually keeping his head down unless someone bumped into him. Strange, that Vekorius was a Guardian yet wore the trappings of a Vindicator. Perhaps he was in training, or simply took up the guard position for something to do. He had a lovely set of horns just like Makios, and a noble set to his stoic expression. He tilted his head to one side, hair falling in a shimmering curtain behind his broad shoulders. He wasn’t wearing armour as Makios imagined him – topless, with defined musculature Makios had only seen in anatomy books.

 _“Why does your gaze linger?”_ Vekorius murmured, abruptly shifting to a clearer tone. _“Is there something I can do for you?”_

Every fiber of Makios’s being screamed for comfort. With his eyes closed, he hugged himself tighter, and imagined Vekorius cradling him in his arms.

 _“There, there…”_ Vekorius whispered. _“You don’t have to worry anymore.”_

“Finally.” Miuuri adjusted herself, taking Makios’s slight erection and seating herself on it. “Ghh. I gotta do all the work, do I?”

Makios didn’t respond, looking as closed-off as one possibly could. His tail was curled in a tight spiral just like his tendrils, and his drooping ears would have folded in on themselves had they the correct musculature to do so.   
“Yeesh.” Miuuri spat. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you? Barely worth the effort.” She rode him for a few long minutes before stilling, unable to reach the climax she so desired. “Bloody useless,” she growled, leaning forwards and smacking Makios across the face. “Wake up, damn you.”

Makios yelped, his thoughts dispersing as pain bloomed in his mind. Miuuri glared at him, her little upturned nose scrunched with distaste.

“Here I am trying to do something nice for you and all you can do is just lie there.”

Makios blinked, eyes glistening. “I… I’m sorry-”

“You better be!” Miuuri smacked him again, and again until she realized just how _good_ it felt to hear him crying in pain. “That’s right, fucking apologize. Useless little shit.”

Makios remembered little of that night. Perhaps it was for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. Miuuri's rapey.


	6. Joining the Sha'nar [M/All]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yay for making shit up

The Draenei had been living on the planet of Nixeron for centuries now. Lush, humid forests covered most of its surface and it was in one of these that the Genedar had landed, with wood and crystal settlements all around. Strange creatures fluttered about and emitted screeching cries much reminiscent of mana rays, though they looked far different to the Argussian species. The most sentient life that came to investigate the Draenei were various animals, and there hadn’t been sight of the Burning Legion in ages.

So it was peaceful, and on this fine day a young priest decided to check out the newly built tavern on the eastern outskirts of the city. Makios walked with a spring in his step, tail swishing behind him as his hooves clicked along paved ground. White sunlight filtered through the canopy above and tiny insects zipped about, enjoying the weather. Makios nudged open the tavern’s polished door to see the place full of people, Draenei mingling with each other in a comfortable, positive atmosphere. Pushing his shyness aside, he took a step forth and heard a loud _clunk_ from a nearby table. Sixteen people sat around it and most were eyeing an enormous Draenei at the head of the table, his face planted in a mug of ale.

“Oh my, is he okay?” Makios approached, his healer senses tingling. A few of those seated looked at him and a woman by the name of Asarii nodded, smiling thinly.

“Yes,” she said, taking a fistful of the huge Draenei’s long white hair and tugging on it. “Our Exarch has simply had too much to drink.”

“Whuh…” The Exarch, Garaan, looked utterly wasted and a good bit of alcohol dripped from his thick, pointy beard. He peered at Makios with unfocussed eyes. “Who’s this?”

“Some guy.” Asarii shrugged, beckoning Makios to sit. “Who’re you?”

“M…Makios.” Inclining his head, Makios felt an annoying curl of hair fall past his ear and tickle his face. He really had to get that cut one day! “I’m sorry, did you say _Exarch_?”

“Mhm.” Asarii took a drink out of her own mug and gave him a more genuine smile. “We’re the Sha’nar, and this big fella is our leader.” She patted Garaan on the back and he didn’t seem to feel it, blinking sleepily.

“He definitely looks like one.” Makios couldn’t help but gaze in awe at what was possibly the most physically impressive Draenei he had ever seen. Garaan easily towered over all those seated, even hunched as he was, with a tall, ornate crest marking him as one blessed with supreme masculinity. Two thick tendrils curved around the sides of his jaw, and his shoulders were almost as broad as the table itself.

“A real paragon of strength!” said a guy beside Makios, nodding with enthusiasm. “He’s broken trees in half with his bare hands!”

“An’ I’ll break you if ya don’t shush.” Garaan muttered, eliciting a few giggles from the others. “You, kid.” He turned to Makios with such ancient grace that the priest knew at once he had come from Argus. “What do you do?”

“I, ahh… I’m a healer, I work with the Light.” Makios flushed a little, the slightest sweat prickling at his brow. Garaan had such a deep, gravely voice that he could feel it resonate in his chest as he was spoken to. And all he could think was _‘Oh no, he’s hot.’_

“Mm.” Garaan only grunted in reply, and Asarii took this chance to comment.

“You any good at it?”

“Dunno, can _you_ reunite souls with their bodies?”

“Actually, I can.” Asarii grinned. “Soulpriest. It’s my specialty.”

“Oh.” Makios’s face went dark purple and the table erupted in a mixture of laughter and cheers.

“Asa back at it again with the clapback of the century!” Raazyk, fork in hand, made a cheeky gesture at her and she rolled her eyes.

“You settle down or I’ll have one for you, too.”

“Yes, _mother.”_

Makios raised his brows. “You two are related?”

Asarii spat out her drink and nearly had a stroke. “Do I look that old?!” Raazyk smacked his hand on the table and guffawed, only to be given a glare from Asarii that could actually rend the soul from his body.

“Ohh, I like you.” Tuunak who sat across from Raazyk made a peace sign with his fingers at Makios. He turned to Garaan, coughing to get his attention. But Garaan was already watching. “Exarch, can we keep him?”

“Whaaa?” Makios floundered. “W-wait, I don’t know if I’d be all that useful, I mean, you already have a priest-”

“Come.” Garaan commanded. Makios obeyed at once and went to the Exarch’s side, balking at the sheer size of him up close. He’d never seen a tail so thick, nor a waistline so generous. “You join us.” Garaan tugged Makios into his lap and the others raised their drinks in celebration.

“Alright! New member!”

“Oooh, he’s cute!”

“Well, if the Exarch says so…”

Makios had no idea what he was in for.

 

~

 

The Sha’nar had their headquarters near the tavern, with magical wards protecting the outside in shimmering purple waves. Clean grey stones made up the sturdy walls and its gardens were well-kept, soft blue grass reaching hoof height. Makios was given a room to stay in on the third floor, furnished with a bed, desk and wardrobe plus a clear glass window with a view of the city. Tuunak, who had guided him through the halls, leaned on the doorframe.

“You need anything, you come to me, alright?” He flashed his brilliant white teeth and Makios grinned at him.

“I… I will, thank you. But I don’t think I caught your name…?”

“Ah! Tuunak.” With a bow, Tuunak introduced himself. “I serve as a Vindicator.”

“Oh! You must be a brave sort, then.” Makios stepped towards him and Tuunak closed the distance between them, tail gently curling about. “My… just look at your arms!” Tuunak was well-muscled and his sleeveless shirt with an open collar showed this to the world.

“Yeeeah.” Tuunak flexed for Makios, chuckling at the priest’s expression. “Hm! If you ever fall, I will catch you. Such is my duty!” He looked around. “Do you have any belongings you wish to move in here?”

“I don’t have all that much.” Makios admitted. “All I really need is a soft bed and good food, and I’m alright.”

“An admirable way to live!” Tuunak leaned in and gave Makios a brotherly hug. “The Sha’nar is pleased to have you.” As Makios cuddled him back, he whispered. “But I must return to my duties keeping watch outside.”

Nodding, Makios stepped back and gave his new friend a little wave in farewell. Tuunak saluted, striding out of the room with his strong tail fanning back and forth behind him.

Now alone, Makios sank into the mattress of his bed, floral scents rising from the pillows. It was all very nice and clean here, yes, but he knew he could not stay for long. At home, Miuuri waited for him, and she would want a full account of what he did that day.

_‘I suppose I can sleep here tonight and inform her tomorrow. She won’t mind too much, I hope.’_

After a few hours of rest, afternoon turned into evening and Makios took to wandering around the place. Polished wood-paneled floors stretched along every hallway, a welcome surface beneath his hooves. He wasn’t all that fond of carpet or grass, as like most male Draenei he tended to sink into softer ground due to his weight. Most of Argus’s races had evolved to deal with the mountainous terrain, leaving them at a disadvantage of sorts when in alien conditions. Makios took good care of himself regardless, his hooves clean and strong as a young Draenei’s should be. As he neared a particular room, the sound of conversation came from within as did a sliver of amber light from beneath the door. He peered through the keyhole and upon seeing nothing, steeled himself before pulling the door open.

Now this, he hadn’t seen before. And he’d lived a good two thousand years. An intricate crystal mosaic patterned the floor, spreading to the edges of the room with two axes of perfect symmetry. Carved stone pillars held up a painted ceiling that was half finished, depicting Draenei soldiers charging at a flame-wreathed monstrosity. Makios’s gaze drifted to the center of the room where Garaan sat upon what looked like a throne, Asarii standing beside him and an unknown male perched on the right armrest. Black iron braziers burned behind them, casting an ominous glow. And arranged throughout the room were various members of the Sha’nar, chatting and eating and working.

Asarii glanced to Makios and beckoned to him, a sly smirk on her face. “Don’t just stand there. C’mere.”

Assuming this to be a council room of sorts, Makios approached with a look of nervous reverence. Asarii wore a striking black dress that fit her curves well, while Garaan had on a set of loose robes in silver and gold. Makios found his eyes drifting down, to where a long white tail coiled in Garaan’s lap. Garaan picked it up and its owner made a deep sound of surprise.

“Move.” said the Exarch, and his right hand man Aeqinus obeyed. Makios was overcome by the sudden need to prostrate himself, and fell to one knee. Asarii hummed softly.

“Good, he knows respect.”

“Of Argus, no doubt.” Aeqinus added. “Makios, is it? The new guy?”

“Y-yes…” Makios’s eyes flicked from Aeqinus to Asarii, then to Garaan. The Exarch’s deep blue eyes were upon him, brow creased in thought.

“Here.” said Garaan after a moment, gesturing with two thick fingers for Makios to rise. Makios did, and tentatively stepped closer. He wasn’t expecting Garaan to reach forwards and grab him by the waist, pulling him into his lap. Soft thighs cushioned him better than any chair could, and an instinctive comfort filled him as the Exarch’s strong arms closed around his waist.

“Hmmmm…” Garaan tilted his head minutely, a hand sliding up the priest’s back to feel his hair. “Thin, aren’t you.”

 _‘Compared to you, I suppose.’_ Makios thought as he got a good look at Garaan’s meaty pectorals and round belly. “I… do not really have much use for muscle, Exarch.”

“You should.” said Garaan, massaging into Makios’s scalp ever so gently, with a sensuality opposing his brusque nature. “Makes you look frail. Weak.”

“I’m sorry…” Makios could feel his voice dying in his throat, each breath resisting the shape of words. “Should I-”

“No.” Garaan interrupted him swiftly. “You have your strengths. Use them.”

“Just don’t try to steal my job!” Asarii cut in and Aeqinus laughed. Even as he was being touched, Makios was curious about this Draenei who shared his uncommon paleness.

“May I ask… who you are?” Makios murmured, his eyelids fluttering closed as Garaan thumbed the back of his left horn. The skin there had feeling, warm tingly feelings at that. “Mmnnn…”

“Aeqinus.” came the reply, in a smooth young voice with all the confidence in the world. “Serving our Exarch since the early days.”

Makios could only moan softly in response, as Garaan’s other hand was now none too subtly feeling the length of his tail.

“Lovely tail you’ve got.” Garaan growled, his thumb running along the plates while his other fingers stroked the soft skin beneath. “Think I’ll keep you.”

“K-keep… me…?” Makios curled his tail up, parting his thighs as he naturally moved to straddle Garaan. “What do you-”

“You’re one of us, now.” said Garaan. Asarii echoed his words.

“One of us.”


	7. Meaty boys 18+ [M/M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meaty boys got me WEAK

Makios was innocently walking to his room on the third floor of the Sha’nar’s headquarters when something caught his attention. It sounded like someone struggling to open a jar, or perhaps shove unruly clothes into an overstuffed drawer. He glanced around, to the empty hallway behind him and the stretch of wood paneling he stood upon.

 _‘I wonder…’_ He snuck along the right wall, fingers keeping him steady as his hooves clicked quietly against the floor. The sounds increased ever so slightly in volume, coming from a room he wasn’t sure who occupied. After listening for a second, however, he realized it was the Exarch who seemed to be _punching_ something. But at this hour? Working out was uncommon. Makios stopped just outside the door, holding his breath.

“C…can’t…” Garaan panted, and whoever he was with sighed loudly.

“Fine, lie down.”

Makios stifled a cough, remembering suddenly to exhale. _‘Aeqinus? What are the- are they **fucking**?’_ He’d know the Consul’s voice anywhere, so smooth and deep, but far less guttural than the Exarch’s. He bent down, eyeing the shard of crystal used as a keyhole. As long as no-one looked too closely and saw his holy glow, he would remain undetected.

The first thing he saw was Garaan’s massive ass, unbalanced by his hefty tail that swayed to one side, guiding the rest of his body into the soft mattress. Now laying on his back, he swept a hand over his face and crest, breathing heavily. Aeqinus moved to straddle him, rutting against his belly while his long white hair spilled over his shoulders.

“You alright?”

Garaan gave a quiet grunt in reply, trying to catch his breath. Aeqinus’s tail swished back and forth, his entire body glistening as scented oil shimmered on his skin.

“Come now…” Aeqinus purred, an unusually dominative lilt to his voice. “Spread for me, love.”

 _‘Oh, holy shit.’_ Makios put a hand to his mouth, unable to tear his eyes from the scene. _‘I shouldn’t be watching this…!’_ He saw Garaan’s thick, meaty thighs part and Aeqinus arched his back, clearly rubbing his cock against _something_. Garaan’s hands clutched at the sheets, his tail thumping the mattress as he quivered with pleasure.

“There… that’s it.” Aeqinus gripped the Exarch’s tits, massaging in circles while he focussed on curving his tail down. Only when it went between his legs did Makios realise he was going to fuck Garaan with it. Having never seen this before in his life, Makios glued his eye to the peephole and settled in for the show.

“Oh, wait.” Aeqinus had just been tickling Garaan’s entrance with his tail when he remembered the ring at the tip, and pulled it back out to remove the ornament. Garaan hissed through his teeth, then squeaked as Aeqinus pinched one of his nipples.

“Patience.” In went the tail once more, and Makios watched it disappear inch by inch. About ten inches in Garaan stiffened, wrenching a hand from the sheets to cover his mouth. A filthy moan escaped him, his legs spread as far as they could go.

“Uhhhnnngnnhh…” He did his best to cant his hips and Aeqinus moved with him, leaning down with his tendrils brushing the Exarch’s chest.

“Good, mm?” Aeqinus seemed to know what he was going for and his thighs visibly tensed, his tail stretching Garaan’s slick asshole. “You like that?”

“Uhuh.” Garaan looked up then at his Consul and moved his hand, stroking it through Aeqinus’s beard. Before he could lose the thick white strands he grabbed on and tugged Aeqinus down for a kiss, obscene wet sounds spilling from their contact. Makios felt a thrill rush through his body at the view he had, of Aeqinus’s thick tail penetrating that glorious ass. Then he heard something that made his knees weak.

“ _Fuck me,”_ Garaan breathed, and labored though it was he could still manage the words. “Qin, plea…please…hhh…”

“Mmm.” Aeqinus slowly pulled a few inches of his tail out, taking his sweet time to push back in. “I might.”

“Don’t…” Garaan was in no mood to wait. “If I could… still… gahhhh.” He plastered his hand to the side of his lover’s face, casting it aside as if ashamed. Aeqinus only came right back and sucked on one of his tendrils, taking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the soft tip. Garaan’s voice pitched higher and he moaned heavily, tail now beating against the mattress at considerable speed.

“Shhhhh.” Aeqinus’s breath cooled around the heated tentacle and Garaan shuddered. “You wouldn’t want someone to hear us, would you…?”

“Nn.” Garaan bit his lip, cheeks flushed and a vulnerable, desperate look in his eyes. He nodded, and Aeqinus pushed another eight inches of his tail into the Exarch’s ass.

“Good boy.”


	8. This Bitch...! [M/F]

Makios was the perfect picture of distress as he ran through the city, hooves crashing clumsily and tentacles whacking his face. Miuuri had ordered him to deliver a message to Garaan, and what she wanted with him Makios had no idea – it was not for him to know, apparently. He burst into the Sha’nar’s council room to find Garaan, Aeqinus and Asarii together as usual, with a few other members scattered about. Garaan squinted, and Asarii raised her brows.

“Makios? What’s got _you_ purple-faced?”

Panting, Makios dragged himself before Garaan and thrust the sealed envelope into his lap. Garaan picked it up and without even a cursory glance, handed it to Aeqinus. Makios’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Wha- you aren’t … even… going to read it?”

Aeqinus smiled down at him, tail flicking idly. “Our poor old Exarch can’t see very well, you know. He gives all written correspondence to me.” Garaan inclined his head, exhaling softly. He seemed tired, and Makios hoped Miuuri’s letter wouldn’t stress him, urgent as it was. Aeqinus got his fingers into the envelope all digging and hasty, peeling out the little folded up parchment stuffed inside. He read it quickly and then frowned. Checked the envelope for a sender’s name. Then he eyed Makios.

“Who sent this?”

“My… partner, Miuuri. Wha- what does it say?”

“ _Stay away from my husband._ ”

Asarii blinked. “You’re married?”

“No!” Makios kept his eyes on Garaan, who was looking right at him with his powerful, yet milky bluish gaze. “Exarch, I…” Garaan held up his hand. Makios looked at the floor, knees having long since given out on him.

“Dispose of it.” Garaan muttered, and Aeqinus tossed the parchment into the nearby brazier without question. Silence filled the room for a minute until the Exarch spoke, his guttural voice void of emotion. “I would like to meet this… Miuuri.”

“Sh-she’s very busy, just gave me the letter for you as she was going out on patrol…” Makios stumbled over his words, tail lashing anxiously behind him. “I could talk to her-”

“No.” Garaan closed his eyes. “Bring her.”

“…Now?” Makios began to sweat. “I-”

“Your Exarch commands it, boy.” Aeqinus’s voice was firm. “Now.”

 

So Makios went back to the Genedar where Miuuri had her room among the many others within the ship, finding her just about to leave in her fancy plate armour. She glared at him, spitting out her words.

“Back so soon?”

“He wants to see you.” said Makios meekly, standing by the door. “Could you… come?”

“Who does he think he is?” Miuuri snarled, grabbing her crystalline hammer from where it was mounted on the wall. “I am the Prophet’s own hand of justice, and he _dares_ to command me?” She rounded on Makios, shouldering him out of the doorway and pushing past. “I will crush his skull in for his insolence.”

“P-p-please don’t!” Makios regretted his words the moment they passed his lips and Miuuri’s tail whacked him hard in the thigh.

“You feel something for him?” she growled, a white-hot glare beaming from the corner of her eye. “You’d weep if he died?”

“He is my Exarch!” Makios followed her with a slight limp, his thigh aching. “W-wait!”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Miuuri spat, and made off towards the Sha’nar’s headquarters. The organization was known well enough for its good work serving the Draenei over the years, their building easily recognizable. In she went with her hammer over one shoulder, fury in her eyes. Makios trailed after her and there at the door was Aeqinus, his black leather vest open at the collar to reveal his broad chest. He stood blocking the way, charged with discerning Miuuri’s intent. She walked right up to him and changed her demeanor in an instant, putting on a saccharine smile.

“Hello, there. May I speak to your Exarch?”

Unnerved by the sudden expression flip, Aeqinus frowned. “You may, yes. Is Makios with you?”

Makios popped his head out from behind a bush just to see Miuuri shrug, her tail coiling serpentine behind her deceptive ass. “Doesn’t matter. Show me the way.”

Aeqinus looked purposefully towards Makios and beckoned to him, guiding Miuuri into the building. Makios hurried behind them both and they walked through the clean, comforting halls. Miuuri made a point to comment on everything she saw, from the décor to the masonry and even Aeqinus’s outfit. Her incessant chatter wore his patience down at legendary speed, and by the time they reached Garaan’s private receiving room he was just about ready to collapse.

“In there.” Aeqinus said, standing guard outside the door. Makios glanced at him, questioning the change in location, but received only a frown in response. Miuuri pushed open the heavy door and Makios scurried in after her. He saw his own reflection in the polished wood floor, plus a few scuff marks from Garaan’s hooves. The Exarch sat at the head of a massive desk, free of papers and ornaments with only a mug of liquor to his right. He peered at Miuuri, taking in the basic elements of her dress, manner and expression. Those were, in order: Armoured, haughty, and arrogant.

“Well?” Miuuri twirled her hammer around by spinning the handle. “What is it? I haven’t got all day.”

Garaan stared, stunned into silence by her sheer impudence. Makios could almost see him regretting moving from his seat to come here, as the council room was undoubtedly more pleasant. He tried to give his Exarch an apologetic look, before remembering that Garaan might not even see it.

“Come now.” Miuuri laughed. “Do not be afraid. I don’t bite. Hard.”

“You were… the one who sent the letter?” Garaan’s voice rumbled forth, his arms crossed over his chest. “The threat?”

“There was no threat, dear…” Miuuri gestured. “I’m sorry, what should I call you? Elder?”

Garaan narrowed his eyes subtly and Makios groaned. Miuuri had struck a nerve.

“Exarch.” said Garaan. He waited.

“Right.” Miuuri nodded and went back to their topic. “Yes, I wished to inform you of this.” She reached back and pulled Makios by the arm with such force that he tripped, startling Garaan. “This thing here… is mine.” Holding Makios close to her body (awkward enough due to his size) she beamed ferociously at the Exarch. “And no matter what petty oaths he has sworn to you, he will be my partner first and foremost.”

“Are you married?” Garaan asked abruptly, distaste on his tongue. Miuuri snorted.

“What, to _him_? Light, no. I’m not _that_ desperate.”

Garaan didn’t know what to say and looked to Makios, who was curling in on himself with his tail between his legs.

“What partnership does she speak of?”

“Hey, over here.” Miuuri clicked her fingers to pull Garaan’s attention to her. “He’s mine, and I tolerate him. That’s our partnership.”

“I was not asking you.” Garaan said coldly.

“And I answered anyway.” Miuuri challenged.

“Miu, please…” Makios squirmed with discomfort wracking his whole body. “Be nice to him.”

“Shut up.” Miuuri elbowed him hard in the side and Makios yelped, his eyes dimming. Garaan took a deep breath in, drank some of his liquor, and set the mug down with a _clunk_.

“How did you ever become a Vindicator, child? You are as cruel as an Eredar in Tarkath to the one you love. If that is what this sordid ‘partnership’ is.”

“You tell him my age?” Miuuri snapped at Makios, raising her hand. Makios flinched, raising his arms to protect his face and shaking his head rapidly.

“No no no, I didn’t, I swear, I-” He bit his tongue then as Miuuri struck him in the jaw, bruising his leftmost tendrils at the base and causing excruciating pain. Makios crumpled to the floor as if he’d taken a hammer to the crotch, rolling on one side, clutching his jaw. An awful scrape reached his ears then as Garaan stood, fury boiling in his blood. Miuuri silently observed the massive Exarch rise to full height, towering a good four feet above her. The walls shook from his hoof steps, while his powerful tail lashed behind him in anger.

“I think you should leave.” he growled, placing a heavy hand upon Miuuri’s pauldron. It took all the strength in her body to stay standing, faced with such raw intimidation that rivaled even her own. In a moment of madness she glared at him, defiant. Garaan’s tendrils twitched and his hand closed, crushing the pauldron with a sickening _crunch_. Crystal and metal caved to his monstrous strength, and Miuuri could only stare, flabbergasted. A second later she turned tail and left, hooves briskly clicking against the floor. The moment she was gone, Garaan knelt though it pained him and scooped Makios into his arms. Makios was shivering, eyes wide with fright.

“Dear child…” Garaan murmured, moving to sink into the couch adjacent to his desk. “How can you endure this?”

Makios whimpered softly, hiding his face from view as he tried to heal it. He could not concentrate through the pain, however, and peered up at Garaan with teary eyes. Garaan’s heart broke for him, seeing the soul-sickness within Makios just by making eye contact. It was really more sensing, touching the priest’s mind with a curious, divine energy. He cradled Makios against his plush body, rocking him soothingly.

“Please, do not cry.”

“N…nnh…” Makios blinked, wetness rolling from his soft white lashes. “I’m… sorry…”

“Shhh…”

After a time Makios settled, Garaan petting his hair and infusing him with healing Light. Having a decent bit of paladin training, the Exarch was more than capable of mending fresh wounds. But he would have preferred them to not exist in the first place, having never seen such an ill-tempered Draenei in all his life. He would advise Makios on Miuuri later – for now, he comforted the priest as best he could.


	9. Way later, in the Exodar... [M/M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the first piece of Makicentric fic I wrote, designed to show off his nonconfrontational nature.

It was a busy evening at the Exodar, where countless members of the Alliance mingled with their new associates. Peace talks were to take place today, Velen and Jaina having agreed upon it and Varian begrudgingly giving permission for his son to attend. Anduin had been pestering him in the politest ways possible for _months_ to get out of the keep and perhaps have a life of his own, something that caused the King great anxiety. But Velen had assured them both that Anduin would be safe here, as would anyone else who had faith in the Light.

When so many races with different ideals converged on a single location, though, things were bound to go wrong. So thought Grand Anchorite Makios, sitting away from the crowds and uneasily scanning each non-Draenei face. Humans and Worgen looked the same to him, an authoritative confidence in most of them that set his nerves on edge. Heavily armored paladins took interest in the statuesque Vindicators, most of whom weren’t in the mood for conversation. One of them however was the oh-so-talkative Vindicator Boros, and he’d had enough wine to inspire a few extravagant tales. At present he regaled a scruffy warrior in battered silver plate, gesturing with his massive hands.

“And so, there he was, Kil’jaeden the Deceiver, before everything had gone to shit… Just as he went to cast an arcane explosion, a counterspell ripped his breeches off!”

“No! He was _pantsless_ in battle?” The warrior, one Guard Thorden of Stormwind, cackled loudly. “What an idiot!”

“Ahahaha! It was just a training exercise. But yes, he should have known better than to clash crests with Archimonde! He was a fearsome mage back in the day…”

Makios looked down at his knees, having unintentionally clenched the fabric of his white robes between tense fingers. Boros spoke in such poor taste of the once respected leaders of their shattered homeworld, and Makios wished Velen would appear out of nowhere to admonish him. He couldn’t help but overhear, his sensitive ears picking up every word and filling his head with images of Argus. The purple mists and golden grasses, swallowed in a torrent of bright green felfire. Melting faces, screaming children, animal carcasses being picked apart by toothy demons…

He squinted, an ache creeping up his shoulders and into his neck.

“What was it like, anyway?” Thorden put his hands on his hips, tilting his head up. “Goat city, I’ll bet.”

“Oh, you have a baaaaaad sense of humour.” Boros pretended to bleat, and it was legitimate enough to fool Thorden for a few seconds. The warrior laughed, clapping Boros on the shoulder.

“Hah! Sounds just like the real thing!”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” said Boros, tapping the side of his head as if drawing knowledge out. “We actually do that in times of great stress. It’s similar to how your people leak water from the eyes.”

“Whaaaa?” Thorden was suddenly struck by the fact that he was indeed speaking to an alien from another planet, and opened his eyes wide. “Your lot can’t cry? That’s so weird…”

“Oh, we can.” Boros shrugged. “But it’s energy, not water. You wish you could sulk out holy energies, don’t you?”

“How about blood? That would be awesome. Give your enemies a real fright!”

Boros chuckled at that, but the ever-vigilant Makios was not amused. He’d seen so many illnesses, attacks and torture victims in his fifteen thousand years of life that blood from the eyes was no laughing matter. Unable to bear any more of the inane banter and duty-bound to watch the proceedings, he shot a stern look in the pair’s direction. Boros felt something and turned, raising a brow.

“Can you two tone it down?” Makios spoke as loudly as he dared, the equivalent of a crying kitten. “Terribly insensitive to speak of such things.”

“The hell’s your problem?” Thorden glared at the priest, taking a step forwards with brows furrowed and sudden anger in his eyes. “You wanna start something?”

Makios froze, disbelief and fear plain on his pale face. Boros rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Ahhh, Maki. See, you’ve made him upset!”

Thorden strode up to Makios who stood, taking a step back.

“Just who do you think you are?” Thorden growled. “Gettin’ in the way of my business.” The scent of cheap alcohol hung about him, as did something masculine, forceful and assertive. Makios unconsciously curled his tail between his thighs and adopted a closed stance, loosely folding his arms over his broad chest. Holy magics tingled at his fingertips, a precaution in case his sense of impending doom turned out to be correct. Thorden took it as a warning and clenched his hands into fists, eyes wide.

“Oh, you’re gonna go all paladin on me now are ya?”

“I’m a priest…” Makios muttered, his hands glowing a tad brighter. Boros stepped beside Thorden, seeming almost disappointed in the Draenei before them.

“Makios, please. You are always overreacting.”

“You speak of Argus like it is nothing.” Makios hissed, pain in his white-gold eyes. “You disrespect our ancestors with your-”

“I don’t give a shit.” Boros raised his hands out, careless. Stunned, Makios stared at him. Boros was of Draenor, young and knowing only the Orcs as an enemy. He had never seen the full might of the Burning Legion with his own two eyes, and Makios felt a tightness in his chest as he tried to choose what to say next.

“How… how could you say that?” Raw hurt tinged his voice, quavering in a manner unbecoming of a priest. “So many were slain, tortured, and all you can do is laugh? You do not care?”

“Tragedies happen.” said Boros, flicking his tail from side to side. “Why not focus on the happier times, eh?”

Thorden grunted in agreement, giving Makios a nasty sneer. “Yeah, you quit your preaching and fuck right off.”

Makios narrowed his eyes, tendrils stiffening beneath his chin. Thorden immediately rose to the challenge and started forwards, the look on Makios’s face dissolving into pure terror. A flash of light burst from his hand, surrounding the priest in a soft golden glow. Thorden grimaced, pushed back a few inches by the defensive energies. At once he snarled, reaching for the sword at his hip.

“You putting up shields, you coward? You gonna do somethin’ sneaky, is that it?”

Makios whimpered, pulling his hands close to his chest. He looked to Boros for aid but the Vindicator seemed more interested at the prospect of a fight, here in peaceful hall.

 _‘Oh, everything’s going to shit!’_ Makios thought, eyes wide in panic. His lips moved in silent prayer, Thorden now armed and waving his sword around. A few heads were turned in their direction, most of the Draenei watching in mixed distaste and concern. The Grand Anchorite was known for being reclusive and flighty, but also for his god tier healing skills. Nobody wanted to see him cut down. But nobody really knew him as a person, either.

Except Velen.

The Prophet’s presence filled the room with such powerful holy energy that all those unacquainted with it had to look away. Velen floated down the crystalline stairs and approached Makios, his glorious eyebrows framing a severe frown.

“What is going on here?”

Relief overwhelmed Makios and he breathed in sharply, stepping behind Velen with glistening eyes.

“He’s going to kill me.” Makios whispered in their language, earning an exasperated sigh from Boros. “Please, Prophet. Make it not so.”

Velen was still for a moment, before inclining his head.

“Go upstairs.” said Velen in a soft, yet commanding voice. Makios obeyed. Velen turned his attention to Thorden, who was struck by the Prophet’s presence and felt his brains seemingly turn to liquid. “You are?”

Thorden blinked several times. “Uh. Thorden Greyshin, Stormwind Guard…”

“What have you come for?”

“Accompanying Prince Anduin, of course.”

“Of course.” Velen turned his face away, slowly replacing his neutral look with one of serenity. “Go in peace.” He raised two fingers and dismissed Thorden in a manner the man just could not defy. Boros watched him go, and then Velen looked deeply into his eyes.

“I do not want to see you drinking on duty ever again, do you understand?”

Boros winced, nodding rapidly as he so hated to be told off by the Prophet.

“Yes, Prophet. My apologies.”

“Mm.” Velen floated off then to spread good feels throughout the gathered folk, with Makios in the back of his mind.


	10. There's kink in this here chapter! [M/F/M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanfiction is the realm of the free.

The Sha’nar were having a meeting today, all twenty of its members assembled in the council room. Garaan sat looking as intimidating as ever while Aeqinus, standing to his right, explained.

“Glad you’re all here. This won’t take long.” he started, scanning the assembled Draenei. “Six hours’ ride East beyond the plains there’s been some Void magic detected, and the last scouts we sent to investigate haven’t come back for a week. Something’s not right.”

“We’re forming a rescue party, and guess who’s going?” Asarii grinned widely, her little fangs glinting white. “All of you!”

“Great.” someone mumbled. “A suicide mission.”

“No.” said Garaan. “A careful expedition. Bradaan, you will go.” The Vindicator stiffened, thumping an armored fist to his chest in salute. “I trust you.” Garaan then nodded towards Makios, who flinched at the sudden attention. “Take him with you, just in case. He may not look it, but can heal well enough should you run into trouble.”

Bradaan grimaced, but bowed his head in acknowledgement. Makios was so skittish he would probably end up getting them both killed! Why oh why did the Exarch think this was a good idea?

Already nervous, Makios began tapping his fingers together and upon seeing this Bradaan sighed softly.

_‘Light damn it.’_

“We leave at dawn, then.”

“You do.” Garaan made a dismissive gesture and then turned to Aeqinus, speaking quietly to him. Aeqinus leaned in to hear him better, eyes on the two Draenei leaving the room.

Outside, Bradaan faced Makios in the hallway. Though only an inch taller he seemed to loom over the priest in his crystalline armour. Makios quivered slightly, looking up at him.

“Listen closely.” Bradaan lowered his voice. “If you get in my way, I’m not responsible for anything that happens. This mission is dangerous enough on its own without missteps or mincemeat.”

“M-mincemeat?” Makios drew his brows together, not understanding. Bradaan leaned in close until their crests nearly touched.

“What you’ll be if you aren’t careful.” A soft _clack_ resounded as Bradaan headbutt the priest none too gently, transmitting both intent and warning. Makios knew not to fuck up _or else_. Now even more nervous than before, he could only nod in haste and scurry off to his room, preparing what he could for the adventure to come.

 

At dawn, Bradaan opened Makios’s door to find the priest snoozing away, cuddled up with a hastily packed bag amongst a pile of blankets.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Bradaan stormed over and smacked Makios upside the head, jolting him awake at once. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“Meeh!” Blinking his eyes open, Makios squinted as the irate Vindicator’s face came into view. “W…wha...”

“Up.” Bradaan’s gauntleted fingers closed around each of Makios’s horns and hauled him out of bed, forcing him onto his hooves as blankets fell around his nude form. Squirming, Makios batted him away and rubbed behind his crest.

“Oww! I’m up, I’m up! Light, that hurt!”

“And you’ll hurt much more if you cut into my downtime, so hurry your slovenly ass to form.” He exited swiftly, leaving Makios to pull on some robes, pick up his staff and make haste outside. He also had his little bag with him, and there was literally just food in there to keep him going. This planet’s water was drinkable, Draenic biology seemingly immune to all but the most foul of corruptions. He figured the day trip was survivable… unless there were monsters out there.

“Bradaan,” said Makios as they approached the stables “What do you think we’ll find?”

“Nothin’.” Bradaan growled, mounting an already saddled Talbuk. Makios did the same. “Maybe a few corpses. Hard to tell in the wild.”

“It’s the Eastern Plains, isn’t it?” They rode off, Makios laughing nervously. “You’d have to be blind to miss a dead Draenei just laying there.”

Bradaan only grunted in reply, and the journey began. It was a silent six hours after he told his companion to shut up, and he found his thoughts drifting to his duties. As Sha’nar’s Captain, he was in charge of their military operations and the general organization, recruitment and wellbeing of their troops. There were more melee fighters among their forces and these he understood, the strength of axe, sword, hammer, spear and shield. Younger than Makios but looking thrice as mature, he was not of Argus yet acted as if he were Archimonde himself. He’d never liked casters, the cowardly soft-robed fools playing with forces beyond their comprehension. Stupid mages and priests, always thinking themselves above him. And for what, pretty light shows and miracle healings? Pah.

“Bradaan…” Makios tried to get his attention, riding behind him on his weary mount. “Th-there’s something there…”

“Didn’t I tell you to-” Bradaan nearly bit his tongue as his talbuk bucked hard, keening in fright. “GAH!” Just meters ahead was a pool of congealed darkness, small purple blobs of the stuff moving around. Makios’s mount looked at him, then at the shadows. Bradaan dismounted and so did Makios a moment later, clutching his staff in both hands. The Vindicator knelt, sticking a finger right into the goop.

“That’s Void alright. Must be getting close.” He pushed down on one of the little blobs and it hissed, melting back into the puddle. “Priest. Purify it.”

“I- what?” Makios only knew how to heal, and perhaps shield a little, too. “How? You’re a paladin, aren’t you? You do it.”

Bradaan stood, glaring daggers at him. “Are you kidding? It’s the first thing they teach you, how to purify the corrupted.”

“I never saw any corrupted.” Makios returned defensively. “Everything was fine on Argus while I was there.”

“For a child of Argus you sure lack the knowledge of our ancestors.” Bradaan spat. “Fucking useless.”

While the two were bickering, the puddle had formed into a huge lump with two gleaming white eyes, sentience flickering in its malevolent gaze. It reached for Bradaan and Makios did not warn him, only took a step back, staff clutched to his chest. Bradaan spun around with a snarl, his long crystal sword slicing into the thing, splitting it in half with a squelch. Makios could literally see the tendrils of Void energy curling around him, caressing Bradaan’s face and worming into his ears. Now there were two amalgamations of shadow and they were laughing, cackling away with clawed hands raised. Bradaan called down a patch of consecrated ground, golden cracks snaking along the earth and frying the nearby grass. Just like that, the shadows began melting and Bradaan stepped back, violently shaking his head to be free of their dark influences. Makios’s face fell a little. He’d been hoping for… something different, perhaps. The Void had whispered to him too, and he had listened. Enjoyed it.

Bradaan turned back to the priest. “That’s how you do it. Oi.” He stepped forwards, a nasty leer on his face. “You scared?”

“No.” Makios lied softly, moving to mount up. All he thought of now was how bad an idea it was to go on a riding trip without pants. His ass _ached_.

Scoffing, Bradaan mounted too and patted the skittish talbuk. “Alright. Let’s go see if we can find our scouts.”

 

It was late in the evening when they returned home, Bradaan seeking out Garaan for debriefing at once. Makios followed him, rubbing at his eyes. Sleep tugged at the edges of his mind, along with a few lingering whispers born of shadow and hurt.

“Exarch.” Bradaan saluted upon finding Garaan downstairs, having dinner with the rest of the Order. Garaan glanced at him, mouth full of bread, and gestured to a seat on the long bench at his left.

“Well, you two are back just in time.” Aeqinus chirped, raising his wine glass in a most aristocratic manner. “We were just beginning to wonder if you’d perished.”

“Hardly.” Bradaan scoffed, peeling off one gauntlet to take hold of some meat on a bone. “Though bright-eyes over here wasn’t much help. Doesn’t even know how to purify, can you believe that?”

Chewing, Garaan forsook politeness in favor of telling Bradaan “Shut up n’ eat. We’ll talk later.”

Bradaan grizzled at that but said nothing, angrily tearing into his food while staring down at the table. Raazyk, who sat across from Makios, tapped his fork to get the priest’s attention.

“So what did you find?”

“Void stuff.” Makios picked up a soft white bun, splitting it in halves with tense fingers. “Nothing much.”

“And the scouts?” Tuunak pressed from beside him, nudging Makios ever so gently. “Milaan and Riya, no sign of them?”

Makios shook his head and Tuunak’s aura dissipated, his whole body sinking into a slump. After scooping a bit of honey and cream onto his bun bits, Makios offered an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

“Gahhh…” Tuunak shook his head, downing the last of his beer in a gulp. “M’ alright. People die, it happens.” He wouldn’t meet the eyes of anyone as he spoke, as if it would invite unwanted attention.

Makios glanced about as he nibbled, the rich sweetness of his favourite toppings taking his mind away from the day’s events. Asarii was perched on the arm of Garaan’s chair, which seemed to have been made with extra room just so she could sit there. At small intervals she would pluck something from the table using coils of shadow magic (invisible to the untrained eye) and bring it between two fingers, offering it to Garaan. He seemed all too happy to accept whatever she gave him, but Makios couldn’t help but notice the way her fingers trailed past his lips, oft caressing a tendril or cheek. And if he listened closely, just barely over the noise of the table he could catch slight sounds of pleasure, little grunts and sighs as Asarii tended to her beloved Exarch. It was hard for Makios to tear his eyes away, Asarii’s motions so sensual, delicate, not like Miuuri at all who always moved with a hurried and forceful drive. To keep from staring, Makios quietly channeled his vision into a person sitting close to the head of the table – Jakaar, one of the Sha’nar’s warriors. Not daring to move his eyes, Makios saw in Jakaar’s peripheral vision that Garaan had his left arm around Asarii’s waist – Light, he was _massive_ compared to her, his forearm nearly thicker than her body. His dark blue fingers contrasted against her black and white dress, a slit in the back giving her long tail room to sway freely and _oh_ , he was gently rubbing at the base of her tail, fingers beneath soft skin and hidden by a fold of fabric…

Makios paid a little more attention to the Exarch himself, knowing he was seeing something he probably shouldn’t. Jakaar didn’t seem to mind, though, absently gazing into his plate with his cheek resting in one hand. Garaan was wearing quite a nice set of robes today, simple enough with an ivory tunic beneath long sea blue drapery. Said robes looked _incredibly_ tight around his belly, and Makios caught a glimpse of just how little space there was between him and the table. It brought a definite flush to his cheeks, to think that Garaan was so indulgent and, in all honesty, majestic. He looked like an ancient King in his finery with loyal subjects and servants around him, complete self-assurance in every move he made. And he was also THICC AF. That helped. To his right, Aeqinus was nibbling on a skewer made out of genetically modified corn, huge chunks of meat glistening along the buttered length. There was meat juice _all over_ his beard and tendrils, and he didn’t seem to give a shit in the slightest. Makios bit his lip. Aeqinus was kinda hot, all carefree yet mature and sensible at the same time. After what Makios had seen him and Garaan doing… he couldn’t quite get certain images and sounds out of his mind.

He paused, retracting his sight from Jakaar’s eyeballs. Wait a minute. If Garaan was politely fingering Asarii here, and he’d been getting a good fucking from Aeqinus the other day… which one of them was his lover?! Staring at Raazyk in shock, Makios didn’t realize the hunter staring right back at him with furrowed brows.

“What?” Raazyk went cross-eyed. “I got somethin’ on my face?”

“I must ask you something later.” Makios murmured. “Something private.”

Bradaan turned to look at him from the corner of his eye, a disgusted snarl on his face. “You got something to say, you’ll bloody say it now.” he said under his breath.

“Wasn’t talking to _you_.” Makios returned with a snippy twitch of his lips. Bradaan’s face darkened, fury boiling in his blood.

“You talk like that to me again and I’ll have your head.”

Makios sniffled, scooting a tad closer to Tuunak who had no idea what was going on, well on his way to a fifth mug of beer. Raazyk frowned at Bradaan but said nothing, nodding to Makios who he would speak to later that night.

 

After dinner, Bradaan tried to catch Garaan but Aeqinus batted him away, hanging off the Exarch’s right arm while Asarii giggled at his left.

“Write a report,” said Aeqinus. “We’re going to sleep.”

“Wha-“ Bradaan nearly choked on his words. “Wait, it won’t take long…”

“Full report, Bradaan.” Aeqinus spoke in a firmer tone, one befitting his station. “Leave nothing out. On my desk, tomorrow morning. And don’t get Makios to do it either.”

Bradaan nodded, visibly shaking with rage. Did they not know how important his downtime was? It was not meant to be filled with report-writing and other such menial tasks! He served the Sha’nar from dawn to dusk; when was he going to get his relaxation hours in? He glared at the retreating three and then took a look back into the dining hall. People were finishing up their conversations, someone had spread out a deck of cards, and Raazyk was leading Makios out of the room.

Bradaan followed, invoking the Light to levitate him above the ground so his hooves and armor did not clank about. Completely still, he floated along and listened.

“Is Bradaan always like that?” Makios asked softly, holding Raazyk’s hand like a child. “So… abrasive?”

“Big words, hm.” Raazyk scratched the side of his face, a smear of sauce there itching him a bit. “He’s a bit of a dickhead, yeah.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.” Makios sighed. “He’s so mean. He said he was going to cut my head off if I said anything to him.”

“Ahh, that’s the problem with him. He talks big and actually has the skill to see it through, whatever he’s planned.” They rounded a corner and seething, Bradaan continued to follow. “Just go with it, hope he loses interest in you or somethin’.”

“I don’t like him.” Makios admitted. “What is he even doing here?”

“He’s been here since the beginning.” said Raazyk. “The Exarch saved his life, and he was young then, probably feels insecure around new members. Feels you don’t belong ‘cause you haven’t stood the test of time or some shit.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care. Is that what you wanted to ask me? About Bradaan?”

“No, no. I wanted to know about the Exarch… Aeqinus and Asarii, what are they to him?”

“His Consul and Advisor, respectively. Come on, you know that. Everyone does.”

“But…” Makios squeezed his hand. “They seem really close. Like lovers.”

“Oh, that. What, you didn’t know? They are. All three of ‘em have a thing going.”

Makios frowned, facing ahead as they walked. “The Exarch has more than one lover? How does that work?”

“It just does.” said Raazyk. “You’re still young, you probably haven’t seen it yet. Sometimes if people are close enough, they can trust to share romantic stuff with more than one person. It’s complicated, but when it works, it’s neat.” He laughed then, jostling Makios with a bump of the hips. “I mean, have you _seen_ the Exarch? There’s more than enough of him to go around.”

Makios giggled, his face flushing lilac. “I’ve never seen anyone like him.”

“He’s a big one alright, and just wait until you see him in battle. Fuckin’ immovable force of Light, I tell ya.”

“Certainly…” Makios trailed off. They’d reached his private quarters, and he turned to look at Raazyk. “I… should rest, it’s been a long day.”

“Alright, yeah.” Raazyk let go of his hand and gave a half salute in farewell. “See ya round, eh?”

“See ya.” Makios went into his room and Raazyk nearly died coming face to face with Bradaan around the corner.

“SHIT! What the Nether are you **doing** here?”

“You got a problem?” Bradaan growled, dispelling his levitation and storming right up into Raazyk’s business. “I heard what you said about me.”  
“O-oi, and Makios, let’s not forget-” Raazyk yelped as Bradaan grabbed him by the tendrils and squeezed.

“I see you chumming it up with that kid again and you’re done for. Understand?”

Raazyk whined. “I don’t get why you hate him so much-”

“You don’t need to!” Bradaan tugged on the tendrils once, twice. Tears formed in Raazyk’s soft blue eyes. “Do you understand me?”

“Uhuh.” Bradaan let go and stomped off back the way he’d come, steps echoing in the hallway. Raazyk rubbed his tender appendages, shivering.

_‘Light, what a jerk.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to existing persons, living or dead or copyrighted, or actual events is purely coincidental.


	11. I spy Character Dev! [M/M/M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit o' relaxing and gg

Today was a day for adventure, the sky clear and cloudless while the sun shone as any good ball of fire should. The Sha’nar were all outside enjoying the weather and Garaan had given everyone a day off to relax. He was leaning against a tree in the courtyard with his eyes closed, a topless Aeqinus draped over his lap. They were both listening to the intermittent cracks and grunts of Jed’hin, where crests clashed and woefully underdressed competitors grabbed at each other. It was an excellent way to both pass time and keep fighting form, Aeqinus having just won a match with his fearsome upper body strength. His fine, toned form glistened as if freshly oiled and Garaan idly stroked a finger down his spine, palm soon gliding along the contours of his muscles. The Exarch wasn’t going to compete today, by the Light, he was practically invincible when it came to holding his ground and it just wouldn’t be fair. Still, there were some who wished to see him shirtless and in a fighting stance – namely Makios, who was peering at the action from behind a pillar. Aeqinus had a feeling he was being watched the moment the priest’s eyes roved past him and he lifted his head, locking gazes with Makios. With a lazy hand wave he beckoned, and Makios shook his head. Aeqinus frowned.

“Oh, come here, would you? We won’t bite.”

Now ordered, Makios approached around the side of the courtyard’s central ring, his hooves gently clicking against sunwarmed stone. Garaan cracked open one eye and then closed it again, having no objections. Makios sat beside him, tail swishing in the long, lush grass.

“Shy as ever, I see.” Aeqinus pushed himself up, giving Garaan a pat on the belly. “You want somewhere to rest? Plenty of room here.”

“I… mmn.” Makios inclined his head, shifting with a glance up to see if Garaan minded. He did not, the perfect picture of relaxation with a neutral calm on his face and some bundles of fabric propping his lower back. Aeqinus’s robes, Makios presumed. Tentatively he pressed his face into Garaan’s chest, cuddling him as far as he could reach around the waist. Never in his life had he felt anything so soft, and a quiet gasp escaped him, followed by a content purr. Garaan’s left hand came around to hold him close, and there was no escaping now. Well and truly secure, Makios’s world narrowed to a steady heartbeat and endless, cushiony warmth. Aeqinus ruffled his hair and went back to snoozing in the Exarch’s lap, quite used to having his face down here for various cheeky purposes.

As he was slept upon, Garaan found his thoughts drifting to the Sha’nar’s newest member. Makios, such a dear, timid little thing. His pale skin often appeared bloodless, like even his life energy was afraid to show itself. Garaan had a feeling he behaved thus because of Miuuri, who was quite possibly the most cruel being he had ever seen (keeping in mind that he’d never laid eyes upon Sargeras in the flesh). In her presence Makios seemed to shrink into a quivering ball of nerves and apologies, something that lingered even when Miuuri was nowhere in sight. He flinched at every touch that was not his own, begged forgiveness for nonexistent faults. A compassionate soul at heart, Garaan wished to see Makios flourish as every Draenei had the right to, but wasn’t entirely sure if it was his place to intervene in this very complex, farcical relationship. He knew nothing of why Makios remained by Miuuri’s side – what did she offer him that was worth enduring her tyrannical nature? He would much rather have the priest by _his_ side, for certain! He played with the end of Makios’s tail, feeling how long and thick it was, similar to his own. There was a strong wielder of the Light beneath all that apprehension… if only he could bring it out.

“Exarch.” A voice pulled him from his thoughts and he blinked, looking up at Kiraana, the Sha’nar’s long-legged messenger. “Word from the Prophet.”

“Speak,” Garaan’s voice rumbled in his chest, sounding like thunder to Makios who nuzzled him there. “What does he ask of us?”

“He’s had a vision related to encroaching shadows and wants us to kill the demon calling Voidspawn into this world.”

Garaan sat a little straighter and so did Aeqinus, raising his head.

“Demon?”

“Not the Legion, but something else. Said it wore bandages and had no face. Not a lot to go off but we’re supposed to find and kill it before it raises an army against us.”

“Fantastic.” Aeqinus yawned, tendrils curling up as he did so. “I’ll organize it. Thank you, Kiraana.”

Kiraana saluted, fist to chest, and ran off to attend to her other errands. Aeqinus watched her light blue buttocks bounce into the distance before turning to Garaan.

“This is serious.”

Garaan glanced at him and grunted. Aeqinus, having had centuries to decipher these vague noises, understood a note of concern. Where the Shadow lingered, the Legion came to exterminate it. And they would know upon first landing here that the Draenei were living in peace, and they would exterminate them, too.

“Gahhh…” Aeqinus pulled at his face, eyelids drooping. “Can’t we ever catch a break?”

“We are catching one now.” Garaan mumbled, jostling Makios with a twitch of his arm. Makios peered up at him, his gentle amber eyes glowing dimly. “Ah…” Garaan couldn’t help but smile. “Apologies. Did I wake you?”

“N…no, Exarch…” Makios whispered, cuddling him tightly. “You’re… very warm.”

“Mm.” Garaan stroked the priest’s hair, his large fingers gliding through the fluffy curls with ease. “Now you know why Aeqinus likes to sit on me.”

Aeqinus chuckled at that and leaned up to press a kiss at the base of his jaw, just beneath a thick tendril. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Makios thought on this, closing his eyes again as the soothing massage to his scalp was making him quite drowsy indeed. The Exarch and his Consul seemed attached at the hip, and he’d always thought it was because Garaan could hardly see ten feet in front of him without assistance. But there was a peculiar dynamic they had – Aeqinus’s friendliness countered Garaan’s gruff nature, and inspired him to open up a little more in conversation. Garaan could perhaps be awkward on his own, lacking common ground with most folk, but Aeqinus drew smiles and stories out of everyone, even offering gentle touches to those who could use them. Asarii was much the same, with a dry wit and snap to her that bounced ideas and reactions off people quicker than lightning. She kept things moving, diffused arguments with excellent deflection skills and could either forgive or focus a conversational error. Makios did not exactly fit in with any of them – they had their perfect dynamic together, and he scarcely belonged.


	12. An adventure without any dice!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dungeon crawling time! Written in present tense :)

It is a week after Velen’s orders that the Sha’nar make way to the East, where the presence of shadow magic is stronger than anywhere else. The journey is long and boring, everyone well-provisioned and ready for battle. Through tall grasses and narrow crevices they pass, Garaan leading them all atop an enormous talbuk flanked by Asarii and Aeqinus. Makios lingers near the back with Tuunak riding beside him, Bradaan up front and Raazyk keeping a lookout for any surprise threats. After a week of travel they come to a cave of black rock, Void energies oozing from glowing purple cracks within. Everyone dismounts, and Garaan rounds up the Sha’nar at the mouth of the cave.

“In here, we will likely face creatures of eldritch strength and terrible power.” Aeqinus speaks the words his Exarch cannot, a stricken look on Garaan’s face as he listens. “The Prophet wants them all dead, and I want all of us alive. Got it?”

Most of the members murmur some assent, and Garaan raises one hand.

“Take form. Warriors, protect your healers. Casters, hold the back.” He unstraps his massive tower shield from his back, spiked steel gleaming in the afternoon light. Asarii hands him his spear, a fearsome double-bladed weapon nearly twice his height, and he turns to face the cave. He’s covered from head to hoof in plate armour, his tail protected by endless jointed segments with three blades at the tip. His soldiers give him a wide berth as he leads them all in, eyes glowing dimly. Aeqinus, also in full plate and carrying a crystalline greatsword, sticks as close as he dares to the Exarch’s right. Asarii meanwhile keeps watch from the center of their formation, Makios behind her clutching his staff with both hands, shivering. Tuunak pats him on the shoulder and he flinches.

“Don’t worry.” says the Vindicator with a bright white smile. “I won’t let anything touch you.”

Makios only whimpers in reply, eyes darting around. Out of all of them, his gaze is the brightest, his faith lighting the way for those edging into shadow. Garaan’s faith is strong too, yes, but over the years as his sight has dimmed, so too has their light. Regardless, he wields holy power with great conviction and splits open a Voidwalker the second it drops from the ceiling, gaping maw full of teeth. Aeqinus has never seen one of these before and hisses, fangs bared.

“That… that’s energy, right? It shouldn’t be able to hurt us.”

Garaan glances at him, stepping into the puddle of formerly sentient energy. “It takes physical form. Physical damage hurts. You know this.”

“Nn…” Aeqinus looks away, suddenly noticing a tunnel to the left from which a foreboding aura creeps. “Exarch, there. I… sense something.”

Garaan grunts, meaning _as do I_ and strides into the tunnel without hesitation. Beside Makios, Asarii visibly tenses and he peers at her, concerned.

“Got a bad feeling.” she explains, just moments before Aeqinus yelps and the whole Order draws their weapons. They spill out of the tunnel and into a wide cavern full of glistening, fetid organic material so dark that all light is swallowed instead of illuminating it. Shadowy bipedal figures covered in bandages wander about, not quite walking nor floating and without any actual feet. Their faceless heads turn to the Sha’nar and half the casters try to back up into the tunnel, met with a solid wall of beefy warriors.

“That… fits the description.” Kiraana mutters, grip painfully tight where she holds her two bone daggers.

“There’s… so many…” Makios whispers, tugging on Asarii’s sleeve but she does not respond, not even subconsciously. Her mind is withstanding such a fierce assault from the Void that it takes all her concentration just to remain sane, and her eyes begin darkening to a sinister violet. There are… _things_ speaking to her. Dark, terrible things. As shadows coil around her black-robed form, Garaan takes a look back and that is his first mistake. One of the bandaged creatures, an Ethereal, shifts into the Void and emerges just feet from the Exarch, six blades protruding from its long fingers. Garaan’s shield smacks right into it and he takes a defensive position, the casters in the back pummeling the stunned thing with magic until it collapses in a pile of dust. With his spear raised Garaan barks out an order and the warriors advance, each of them going straight for an Ethereal to hopefully halt whatever’s going on here. And then, the fiends come.

Out of the walls and up from the ground, the organic matter begins congealing in so many places there aren’t enough eyes present to count. Slavering beasts of all shapes and sizes are born from the darkness, incomprehensible appendages shifting around their chaotic, undulating forms. Bradaan faces down one twice his size and it swipes him across the face, drawing blood just as his hammer caves in its chest. At the scent of life spilled, the hungering Voidbeasts turn to him and screech. Whispers and screams mingle in the cavern, echoing around skulls, crawling under armored flesh. While Garaan jabs at anything daring to approach him, Asarii sucks in what magics she can and forces distant enemies to collapse upon themselves. Makios is busy enough shielding each and every soldier with golden barriers of Light, but then someone cries “ _I NEED HEALING!”_ and he turns around. Bradaan floats six feet in the air, hooves dangling uselessly as an Ethereal channels tendrils of dark magic into his face. It’s in his eyes, his mouth, sucking out his soul for the glory of an endless, insatiable hunger. The Ethereal’s hollow laughter reaches Makios’s ears, making his tail curl between his legs in fright.

 _‘YOU DO NOT WISH TO SAVE HIM, HEALER?’_ It speaks to him, and he listens. Oh, how he listens, and stands perfectly still, eyes rolled back into his head. The Void holds him and his shields falter, Bradaan’s gurgling screams lost in a torrent of black noise. He knows he must do something, but when he calls upon the Light, what comes instead is a fearsome wail and Bradaan is wracked with such immense pain that he withers to bone, muscles liquefying under sticky, clinging skin. Garaan whips his head around at startling speed to see the mess of armour and flesh in a pile beneath an Ethereal, power emanating from its core.

“ASARII!” he roars, breaking the Soulpriest’s focus. “BRING HIM BACK!”

Asarii tries but there is too much chaos, the screaming is so _loud_ , and Bradaan’s tormented soul slips through her grasp, into the unknown.

“I cant, he’s gone!” Asarii yells and Garaan has no time to grieve for he spots Aeqinus amidst three warriors, all of them fighting an enormous beast. It’s an amalgamation of every slain Shadowfiend drawn together by an Ethereal’s will, and these Voidbenders are clever bastards, hovering just out of reach and counterspelling the casters. Garaan rears back and throws his spear at the closest one, splintering its head into a mess of scattered colours. His hooves crack the ground as he sprints to catch his spear and just as he grabs it, Aeqinus runs past him. There’s terror in his eyes, an unnatural glow around him, and curses come to Garaan’s lips as he turns to see the beast lumbering after his Consul. Five times his height and endlessly vast, it opens its mouth. Garaan throws himself to one side, hitting the ground hard enough to jolt his whole skeleton. A healer picks him up from afar, dragging him to their position in a flurry of featherlight holy magic.

“There,” Garaan pants, gesturing to Aeqinus who’s run into a wall and backs against it, facing the beast. “Shield him.”

The healer does and Garaan takes off as fast as he can, tail lashing furiously and smacking enemies aside. Formidable and mountainous he slams into the beast’s hind leg and cracks what passes for bone inside it. The resulting howl nearly deafens him and he winces, seeing nothing but shadows and the blurred outline of Aeqinus, blue blood trickling from his mouth. The beast raises a paw and Garaan yells, “ ** _MOVE!_** ” but Aeqinus is frozen with fear and gets struck in the side of his head, the blow hard enough to send him flying across the cavern.

Garaan stabs the beast right up the ass with his spear but still it doesn’t pay attention to him, long tentacles sprouting from its back and waving all around him in a disorienting mesh. He can’t cut them down fast enough, not restricted as he is and he calls upon the Light to engulf him in holy fire, hoping to burn what he cannot slice. Aeqinus cries out then and Garaan hears a sickening _crack_ , the tentacles parting just enough for him to see his Consul face down on the floor, blood pooling around his head. The Exarch screams at the top of his lungs - loud enough to draw the beast’s attention and it turns to him, taunted, Garaan bringing the Light’s wrath down upon it. Searing shards of energy take form in a flash of gold, piercing the beast through every inch of rubbery skin it has until nothing remains but a puddle of tainted shadow goop. Garaan stumbles to Aeqinus, dropping to his plated knees with a heavy _clank_.

“Qin,” he gasps, purple ichor dripping from his armour. “Qin, get up.”

Aeqinus doesn’t move, and as the fighting dies down with the Ethereals Garaan roars for a healer.

“MAKIOS! GET OVER HERE!”

Makios is there in an instant, kneeling beside Aeqinus with his staff in one hand, white light in the other. He lifts the Consul’s head with a swirl of pure energy, mending without looking, just feeling where the Light is needed. Garaan looks. Aeqinus’s crest resembles a chasm, split from brow to peak and shattered near his temples. Had his skull been thinner, death would have come at once. Instead, he still breathes, but faintly, comatose. Garaan cradles his head, staring at Makios. The blood stops flowing and bone knits together, but one of the more senior healers approaches with dread in his heart.

“Exarch,” he mutters. “He will live.”

“What else,” says Garaan, for he knows there is something unsaid.

“…The Light has mended his body… but it cannot mend his mind.”

“Yes it can!” Garaan stands up, cradling Aeqinus in his arms. Aeqinus is nearly as tall as him and yet he carries the man like a child. “What do you know of his mind? Anything wrought by the Void can be undone-”

“Exarch.” The healer speaks much softer, now. “His…” He gestures to the side of his head, indicating the brain. Garaan shakes his head firmly, long black hair coming undone from its bindings and sticking to his armour.

“No. **No**. We leave, _now_.”

“Everyone!” Asarii raises her voice. “We’re done here, move out!”

One of the paladins has to shield Garaan’s mount to carry the weight of two Draenei, for Garaan will not part with Aeqinus until they are back home and he can lay his Consul in bed. He spends the night arguing with the healers while Aeqinus lies unconscious. Some mourn for Bradaan, others whisper about the things they’d seen, and most avoid Makios for reasons he cannot comprehend.

Makios lies awake that night, a huge grin on his face.

 _‘Good, good. He won’t trouble us anymore.’_ The voice sounds like his own, but raspy, thin.

_‘Such a cruel man…’_

_‘Tasty…’_

There are more speaking to him and he listens. How lovely it is to not feel so alone this night, his mind seemingly conjuring friends to accompany him. He doesn’t even think about the Void, of the maddening whispers he knows it induces.

_‘Friends...’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm actually surprised people are reading these holy shit


	13. Currently... [M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of writing in accordance with Makios's current state in life. That is, in-game, living on the Vindicaar, serving his Order and having his IC relations. I've removed references to persons real and imagined so nobody can chew me out for my work ;D

Makios appeared in his room with a burst of magic, hearthstone clutched tight in his left hand. He knew this place, the play of amber light across cream bedsheets and the clean, crisp corners of the walls. Yet he was disoriented and stumbled forth, collapsing into bed with a grimace on his face.

_‘What… am I doing here?’_

He’d spent the afternoon in Stormwind, lazing about the Mage Quarter as he often did when the sun dipped below the horizon and he had a few drinks in him. Too sober for his own liking, Makios vaguely remembered a few familiar faces – that one wizard with the purple hat, and the druid who never seemed to shift out of bear form. In truth, he’d been keeping an eye out for his mage friend, An’zellir. Fate however had not brought them together that evening and so Makios had made his way home to the Vindicaar – where he owned a nice set of private quarters complete with an ensuite and wardrobe. Golden patterns streaked about the ceiling while the floors and walls were of cool grey stone, perfect for projecting images against and kind on the hooves. Makios never trusted carpets.

He lifted his head, silken tresses of white-gold hair falling about his face. Everything was just as he’d left it – pillows atop thick fluffy blankets and a small array of unlit candles sitting in the alcove. With a wave of his hand he lit them – or at least he tried to, finding his body unresponsive. He tried again – the Light answered him, but his arm felt so _heavy_ …

 _‘Perhaps I should sleep.’_ he thought to himself. _‘Tomorrow is a new day.’_

**_‘Oh, yes, sleep alone. That’ll be fun.’_ **

Makios shook his head, forcing himself to get up. His arms burned, as did his thighs. And this time it wasn’t just chafing.

_‘Shut it. I don’t have time for-’_

**_‘What? You have time for everything, you damned fool. Look at you, acting all busy and shit. The Order hasn’t called on you once, and that night elf friend of yours might be dead for how often she visits.’_ **

“Nh!” Dramatically posed with his legs beneath his half-propped form, Makios grasped his face and shook his head. His tendrils curled up, afraid. _‘Not dealing with this!’_

The voice in his head was a feminine one, shadowed and hissing and relentlessly cruel.

**_‘You’re useless, and you know that. Why don’t you stick your face down in that pillow there and suffocate? Light knows nobody needs you.’_ **

Makios glanced at it, immediately looking away. His gaze fell on the row of sculptures he had on the dresser to the left of his bed, just near the full-length mirror stuck to the wall. Yes, he could lose himself in the details of his works, if he could just get a little closer…

There. Three steps, and he crouched before the figures. He’d been making these all his life, one of the few skills his mother had taught him before her last breath. The oldest ones were still in his room on the Exodar, probably covered with dust from how infrequently he visited. At least he’d cleaned out the fridge before he moved here. That was what mattered, right?

His eyes flicked from person to person. They were all Draenei save one flat-chested night elf, her stature quite short in comparison to the burly males. Each figure was posed in either a combative or reclining stance – there was An’zellir with his left hand raised and hooves apart, while beside him stood the stern figure of the Exarch from Makios’s order. The rest of the figures were people Makios had known, or still knew and maintained good relations with. There weren’t many of those.

He smiled upon gazing at the Exarch. Spear in hand, a true protector of their people, this was a paragon of strength Makios admired from his heart.

**_‘He doesn’t trust you.’_ **

His smile faltered. Something else came to mind, a phrase one of the Rangari had said to him just two days prior.

_What if we are in the heat of battle and cannot protect you? We cannot always watch your back._

To that, Makios had replied that he needed no defending, for he was a healer, a Grand Anchorite with holy shield skills beyond compare.

_It only takes one stab with enough magical force to end it all._

**_‘That’s right,’_** said the voice at the back of his head. **_‘One stab, and you won’t have to suffer anymore.’_**

“Not listening…” Makios murmured, straightening up and peeling off his robes. Shimmering white silk with pink and gold accents pooled around his hooves, levitated up to hang on the edge of the mirror with a simple hand motion. The Anchorite pursed his shapely lips. _‘Light, why am I so tired?’_ He’d done _nothing_ today, aside from the usual eating, wandering and snoozing.

**_‘It’s because you’re fucking useless, you cretin. It’s the way things are – if you’re good for nothing, you’ll do nothing. And what are you doing right now? Nothing.’_ **

Makios wrapped his thick arms around himself, looking away from the sculptures. He missed Vorkhan, his priestly friend who was ever so good with the Shadows. Vork would know what to do about all these thoughts, especially the ones that came with a voice and a face.

 ** _‘You’ll never get rid of me.’_** said the voice. **_‘I’m the only one who could ever love you, don’t you know? Oh, Maki, you never should’ve left.’_**

“Light, please…” Makios whispered, digging his clawed nails into the flesh of his sides. “Make it stop.”

In this hallowed place the Light did answer, and for a time the Anchorite had clarity enough to breathe, relax his hands, stand a bit straighter. Given the respite he had a shower, garbed himself in a wispy gossamer robe and sought a good night’s sleep.

But sleep did not come.


	14. The Savior (1) [M/M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makios prays.

 

It was three minutes to midnight on the Vindicaar, according to the magical clocks ticking silently in every room onboard. Few cared for Azerothian time here, more concerned with the swirling currents of the Twisting Nether currently keeping the ship afloat. Grand Artificer Romuul paced the gilded hallways checking on every nook and cranny, trying to convince himself that the heightened energies in the air were completely harmless – when he knew they were not. He almost bumped into a passing Anchorite, swiftly turning his body to avoid contact and instead feeling a swathe of cool silk brush along the length of his tail. He turned, hooves carrying himforth as his eyes tracked the other Draenei. This one was known to him – Makios, a shrewd lad from the north of Mac’Aree, around his age and one of the most powerful healers on the Vindicaar. He gave the man a cursory nod and Makios dipped his head, averting his eyes. The Anchorite disappeared into his private quarters and the door locked behind him with a pulse of holy light.

 _Safe_.

Everything was as he had left it, and his photographic memory did not fail him for an instant as he swept his gaze around the room. The chandelier he’d made out of a broken warframe visor rotated gently from the middle of the ceiling, flickering argunite crystals humming around it. His dresser still had the edge of a wispy robe hanging out from when he’d stuffed it in this morning, and an unfinished sculpture sat invitingly on his desk.

Compared to the chaos of life on Argus, it soothed him to come home to this. Though there was one thing he missed, and it was the presence of _someone_ to return to. Many in his order had their lovers and family, but Makios only had a bare spattering of acquaintances whose intentions he could not discern. Casting his cloak and spaulders aside, he dropped to one knee at the foot of his bed and clasped his delicate white hands together.

“Blessed Light,” he began, the candles lining his bedhead lighting up in sequence, “Hallowed be thy name…” Makios could feel an awful tension agitating what serenity tried to drape over him. “I beg your forgiveness for my sins. My body responds unwillingly to your generosity and peace. I do not deserve your mercy…” He breathed in, brows scrunching together. “…But I beseech you for it anyway. Please, Light, I do not wish to suffer any more.” He could hear the pathetic drawl in his voice, the near-bleating whine of it. “Please, save my pitiful soul. Release me from this tormenting solitude. I remain ever your faithful servant, I have my whole life. Always shall I be. But Light, oh, Light, I cannot live for much longer alone.”

The room was silent, save for the humming of crystals above. The Grand Anchorite felt as if he was being judged by the very force he’d devoted himself to, and by all things alive if he was found _unworthy_ …

 _‘No_ ,’ he thought, shaking his head. _‘I am worthy.’_

**_‘No you’re not.’_ **

“Light, please…” He chanted, over and over again. His hands were shaking from how tightly his fingers knot together, pointed nails digging furrows in his skin. “Please…” Every fiber of his being resonated with hope, with desire, with desperation. His tail had curled up into a tight spiral as had his two tendrils, and despite the touch of serenity upon him his vast body trembled from head to hoof. Eyes still squeezed shut, Makios felt a stinging behind his lids and fierce pain in his jaw. He had prayed thus every night for the past five thousand years, even in his mind when he lay in bed with a partner. None of those partners had stuck with him and this was what he prayed for – one who would stay by his side with compassion in their heart and righteousness in their soul – someone who would never, _ever_ raise a hand to him. Someone who would never leave because they didn’t like the way he breathed or spoke or looked or ate or-

Makios’s crest clacked against his knuckles, voice faltering as he wept. Of course the Light would not grant his request, it wasn’t even a being with ears to listen, how could it possibly help him? He despaired, enough holy energy swirling in the air to chase away the encroaching shadows. Come to think of it, there _was_ a lot of Light in here. The candles were on fire, melted together in a pool of wax dripping onto the bedframe and the crystals orbiting the chandelier spun at dizzying speed.

Makios cracked open one eye – he couldn’t ignore the blazing heat to his left – and stared dumbfounded at the pillar of holy fire reaching up to the ceiling. In a sudden flash of orange, white and gold, the pillar flared as if Makios noticing it was the catalyst for some greater force to step in. The Anchorite lifted an arm to shield his eyes and blinked before he was blinded. Then he heard within his mind the chiming of a thousand newborn Naaru, lifting hymns in praise of the first dawn. He peeked. And a hand reached for his face.

“Geeh!” He scrambled back, the hand silhouetted in gold pausing just inches from his nose. Had he pissed off the Light enough for it to come down in person and smite him? It certainly felt like the end of days had come – white fire licked across the stone floor and fluffed the bedsheets with heavenly winds.

There, standing before him was a figure nine feet tall with a blazing brilliance in its eyes. It gazed down at Makios, long white hair fluttering unbound about its powerfully muscular shoulders. After a moment of deliberation, it dropped to one knee and formed its hand into the shape of a blessing. Two fingers together, all others drawn to the palm. The symbol of the Naaru appeared on its forehead – a crested one at that, Makios noted with two grand spiraling horns reaching back farther than his own. The Anchorite gasped softly as the blessing touched him, too. Connection. Understanding dawned.

_This was an individual born of Light, and it meant no harm._

He reached, hesitated, and then touched two fingers to the being’s own. It smiled.

_This was a companion, a Savior, a friend._

Makios stared into the pupilless gold eyes with his own watery amber. The being reached for his face, and naturally he flinched.

_This was a healing touch, and there would be no more tears._

He closed his eyes and a warm, smooth thumb swept past his cheekbone along with a pulse of restorative light. It mirrored his own – gentle, unobtrusive, but with incomprehensible power. The purple tinge to his nose and cheeks faded, his tendrils uncurled. Tension ebbed from his muscles as it calmed his nerves. The Lightborn figure cupped his cheek in its palm, and spoke.

_“In the Light, we are one.”_

 

Makios blinked. He took in the figure’s appearance – Draenic, _no_ , **_Eredar_**. Pure. Square jaw, slightly hooked nose, gentle gold eyes and fluffy white lashes. When the being spoke, Makios noted a glow from within his throat, his nose, his skin. A glance to his bare wrists – yes, his veins pulsed with a yellow tone rather than dark blue. He had raw holy energy running through his body instead of blood.

“Who… are you?” Makios whispered, tilting his head further as the being stroked his cheek. Those hands were so, so soft… yet belonged to the most muscular arms Makios had ever seen, and ended in white-tipped nails. They were clawed, like his own. Familiar.

“Caevitus.” said the being, reverently dipping his head. His four tendrils swung to chest length, and he didn’t seem to notice his own state of undress. “I am here for you.”

Awestruck, Makios’s eyes roved further. Down from the thick, meaty pectorals to clean-cut abs, he noted the sharp jut of hipbones and a… _Oh, by the Light._ Caevitus was blessed indeed. But below that… Makios had never seen _this_ before. Where he himself had legs of flesh and bone, Caevitus’s lower half resembled that of a Vigilant. Armored segments hovered in place without joints to connect them, holy power keeping the kinetic forces in harmony. Knelt as he was, Caevitus did not seem to be under any stress – and why would he, without a pair of kneecaps? Makios tilted his head ever so slightly – there was the tail, and it was almost longer than the construct’s body. Or, er, half-construct. Words did not come easily as he inspected the intricate white engraving in Caevitus’s skin, covering the majority of his left shoulder and spiraling along each segment of his tail. He squinted. Yes, those were definitely etched into his skin, glowing the same colour as his eyes. They pulsed as he breathed, and for all Makios’s ogling, Caevitus certainly didn’t seem to mind. He appeared to be… waiting for something, that same reassuring smile still plastered to his face.

Makios went to stand and Caevitus placed his hands under his arms, lifting all five hundred pounds of him with ease. On his hooves, Makios drew his hands close to his chest and glanced at where Caevitus now held him around the waist.

“A…ahm…”

Caevitus tilted his head to the side, a quiet _click_ sounding from within his head. Or maybe it was his teeth. Makios wasn’t sure.

“What is the matter?” Caevitus’s unrelenting eye contact drove Makios to step back, warily observing his new companion.

“I… where did you come from? I was in here alone a moment ago.”

Caevitus looked down at his still somewhat outstretched arms, hands, and after a moment’s thought let them drift to his sides. He peered at the Anchorite, brows knitting together as if shocked. But the rest of his face just looked… concerned? His expressions made little sense, and Makios had _studied_ the damn things for centuries.

“The Light.” said Caevitus, finding a particular Draenic word to describe his creation and spreading his arms out wide. “ _Katethi.”_

Everything.

“Indeed…” Makios wandered around Caevitus, who stood perfectly still save for a swish of his tail and ever-tracking eyes. “Well, Caevitus… of the Light. I did not expect your arrival, and…” Makios stopped himself before he went on blathering pointless nonsense. No. He had to make a good first impression. “Goodness. It is a little late, isn’t it? Would you like something to wear? We can discuss things in the morning.”

“It is morning.” said Caevitus, gesturing to the clock on the wall. 12:15 AM. Alright.

“Later, later. Come.” Makios peeled back the bedcovers and gestured for Caevitus to join him, knowing no other polite manner in which to host his unexpected guest. “Rest awhile. I’m sure appearing out of nowhere takes quite a bit of energy, no?”

“No.” Caevitus shook his head, hair fluttering behind him. “I am one with the Light, the Light is with me. Energy is in my blood. But if you wish to rest, I shall join you.” For such an imposing figure, he did have a soothing voice the depth of which rivaled Makios’s own. There were no mechanical echoes common in the speech of most constructs, nor did he hiss like an imprisoned soul. Makios found himself wishing to hear more of the unusually formal, pious banter from his companion and shed his robes, getting all cozy under the covers. His bed was just long enough for him, and Caevitus was a proper foot taller when he stretched his plated legs. Caevitus observed the position in which Makios lay and clumsily mirrored it, unable to discern muscle and bone beneath the Anchorite’s voluptuous softness.

Makios could hardly believe his luck – he’d prayed for a partner and here one was, showing none of the common signs of distaste people displayed when they looked at him. The construct seemed… lost, in a way, though when he looked at Makios there was a serenity about him that rivaled the Prophet Velen after a bong hit.

“Sleep,” Makios suggested. “We’ll talk in the… uh. A few hours.”

Caevitus was quiet for a moment. He looked troubled.

“…I do not know how.”

Makios squinted at him. “What do you mean? You close your eyes, and… wait.”

“Ah.” Caevitus suddenly grinned at him, showing off his bright white fangs. “Thank you. I will wait.” And so he closed his eyes, the pulse of light about his body fading to a dim resting state. Makios gazed at him for a while, keeping mostly to himself, but come morning he was draped about the construct with no regrets at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Caevitus : tinyurl.com/caevitus
> 
> The Savior is an ideal of One Person who can and will solve all Makios's problems. It is a part of BPD MOOD and something I experience in yearning for a partner who will bring me peace, and perhaps an end to the all-consuming feelings of loneliness, desperation, isolation and worthlessness that I feel every day. When I look at other people who have been through what I have and they're somehow married and a-ok, it fills me with envy, anger and sadness. Why can't I have that? Why can't I be okay?
> 
> Caevitus is the fictional, projected answer. The Savior.


	15. The Savior (2) [M/M/M/M]

The Grand Anchorite blinked several times to make sure he was not still dreaming. There, laying beneath him was a nude and well-muscled Draenei with a concerning lack of shadows about him. Light shone from within his ears, nose, and beneath closed eyelids too. Makios observed as his memories came back to him, and he spoke softly.

“Caevitus…?”

White-gold eyes snapped open and the construct’s resting face changed to a smile.

“Makios,” he said. “Are we done waiting?”

“I… suppose?” Makios wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that and shifted, realizing the provocative position he was in. Straddling the construct’s waist with his hands on that buff chest, with… hang on. Why were their tails coiled together? He glanced back, wiggling the tip of his tail. Caevitus did the same and chuckled quietly. Makios squinted at him.

“What?”

Caevitus reached out and brushed his fingers along Makios’s shoulder, up to his jaw where as expected, one tendril wound around his wrist.

“I have kept you safe during the night.”

Makios raised an eyebrow. “You… do you even know where we are? This is the Vindicaar, nothing will happen to us here.”

“Not while I am here, no.” said Caevitus. He had a gentle, factual tone to his voice and a completely placid look on his face. Makios stared at him for a moment before shifting to the right, turning his head away despite the soothing touches.

“You are strange,” he said as his tendrils curled together, minding their own business. “But not entirely unpleasant. Come, we need to find you something to wear.”

“Why?” asked Caevitus, a mechanical groan coming from beneath the blankets as he shifted his massive legs. “Does my appearance displease you?”

“No, but I cannot have you wandering around with all that hanging out.” Makios gestured vaguely to the construct’s lower half, doing his very best to keep his vision pure. But by the _Light_ , what WAS that? It looked like a ridged column of fire with a dusting of white feathers at the top. Painful, to be hit with.

Caevitus lay on his side, thumping his thick tail against the bed as he watched Makios rummage through the wardrobe. His summoner was a fine one, with an elegance to his curvy form any Eredar could appreciate. He moved with ancient grace and a wide gait, neither swaggering nor waddling but with something more ethereal. It was as if the Light carried him wherever he went, rather than his own two hooves. Caevitus’s pupilless eyes fell to the Anchorite’s buttocks – round, soft and with a supple bounce as he shifted his weight, contemplating which robes to wear. His hefty tail swished back and forth, unaware of the eyes upon it. Every detail, Caevitus took in. Those plushy thighs, that set of well-hung… oh. Makios had turned, and was looking at him. Caevitus lifted his gaze and smiled.

“Ahm. Here.” Makios took a few steps forth and held out a bundle of cloth. “I don’t have anything that would fit you…” he said, surveying Caevitus with a critical tailor’s eye. “But this will be decent enough.” It was a tabard with the Army of the Light’s symbol on it, black and gold and looking _very_ classy. Caevitus threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, accepting the tabard.

“Thank you.” he said, bowing his head. “How exactly… should I wear this?” He gazed at Makios innocently, hoping that his mimicry of the Anchorite’s speech patterns would put him at ease. Makios actually relaxed a fraction, just enough for Caevitus to take notice and store the knowledge away.

“Here.” Makios reached up and took the tabard back, unfolding it and shaking it out. “Over your head.” It draped quite nicely over the planes of Caevitus’s Light-sculpted body, falling just below his crotch to offer some measure of decency. But when Makios peeped from the side, it wasn’t all that useful.

“You need pants.” Makios announced, taking a quick finger-measurement of the construct’s waist while calculating the numbers in his head. What he realized made him blush a tad, mostly out of embarrassment that he had his hands on someone he barely knew. Caevitus, despite his monolithic size, did have a waist smaller than Makios’s own and so could wear any of the Grand Anchorite’s fancy garments.

But there was a problem.

Makios did not own any pants.

 

“Eeeeegh…..” Makios stepped back, rubbing at his tendrils. “Alright, maybe… maybe this?” He dashed into the bathroom, brought back a towel and tied it around Caevitus’s waist all while the construct stared blankly. Now _that_ was legit, even if it did look a bit strange. “Good. Now you’re decent. We can go and get something to eat, and I’ll ask Romuul about you.”

“Who is that?” Caevitus asked, a sudden harsh edge to his voice. Makios turned from where he’d been going back into the wardrobe, and blinked.

“Uh. The Grand Artificer? He’s a good guy, knows a lot about stuff.” He went and got himself something to wear, a lovely pink and white set of robes with golden accents at every edge. When he raised his eyes to meet Caevitus’s, however… he could see the construct’s features twitching between neutrality and a snarl. Makios paused, slowly reaching for the crystalline staff he had leaning against his desk.

“Are you… okay?”

Caevitus grit his teeth, and Makios saw just how threatening his fangs looked poking out from his lips. Yeesh, those were more saber-like than Draenic…

“I serve.” said Caevitus, and thumped a fist to his chest in salute. He suddenly looked at ease, though the white-hot fire in his eyes had not dimmed. “Let us go, hm?”

“Y-yes…” Makios shuffled over and held Caevitus’s hand, feeling the raw energy heating his palm. “Light, you’re hot!”

“You are not so bad-looking yourself.” Caevitus replied, and grinned down at him.  
“I don’t… _argh._ ” Makios sighed. Puns and the like would come later. Right now, he wanted something to eat and some _answers_ , too. They exited his quarters together, and walked down the corridor until a left turn took them into the Vindicaar’s dining hall. Makios went straight for the cafeteria where several mages were either pulling Azerothian dishes out of portals or conjuring up foods for the pickier members of the Army of the Light. He asked for his usual breakfast – pancakes, bacon, eggs and cheese – while being completely oblivious to the people staring his way. Caevitus turned his head, gazing at the various Draenei, elves and humans sitting about the tables. None of them looked as fine as his Maki, no, not one bit. He smirked.

“You want anything?” Makios asked, tugging on Caevitus’s hand.

“I want for nothing in my service to the Light.” said Caevitus, earning an eye-roll from one of the mages. “Nothing but you.”

“O…oh!” Makios’s face went bright purple and all flustered, he took his food and hurried to where hopefully no-one could see him. But Caevitus did not let go of his hand, and instead was dragged along to an empty table. Makios sank down onto one of the two benches at either side of the table, and Caevitus sat beside him instead of opposite like most would. Makios peered at him.

_‘Does he want some of my pancakes, or what?’_

Caevitus wasn’t even looking at him. The construct had his head twisted in the direction of everyone else, sending a fearsome glare to any who dared look too long. Soft murmurs could be heard, and they reached Makios’s sensitive ears first.

_What **is** that?_

_Is it a Lightforged…?_

_What’s up with his legs?_

Makios glanced at Caevitus, nudging him with a mouth full of bacon.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“They stare,” said Caevitus coldly. “They are a threat.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t know that.” Makios gave him a sharper nudge, a little too soft around the edges to really cause much annoyance. “Here. Have some of this.” He offered up a piece of bacon and Caevitus nipped it out of his hand.

“Mh. Good.”

“Mmhmm.” Just as Makios went to roll up one of his syrup-drenched pancakes and stuff it into his mouth, a fist smacked down upon the table and someone’s face came into view.

“You.” Romuul growled. “I see you have a new friend.”

Makios flinched, and at once Caevitus stood up and shoved Romuul hard in the chest. Stumbling back, Romuul crashed into the wall and put a hand out, face the purest picture of confusion.

“Wha…?”

“Do not touch him.” Caevitus snarled, holy magic boiling in the palm of his right hand. The left was planted firmly on Makios’s shoulder, maintaining a shield stronger than anything the Anchorite could summon up himself. A few Lightforged hovered near the edges of his vision, bewildered yet armed and wary. Threatening.

“What on Argus is _wrong_ with you?” Romuul stepped forth, jabbing an accusing finger at Caevitus. He’d pulled a Maraad, channeling anger over wisdom. “You are a child of the Light; act like it! Or are you mal-func-tion-ing?” Each syllable he punctuated with a poke-poke motion, only pissing off Caevitus further. Makios took a bite out of a strip of bacon, watching the show in fascinated horror.

“I will send _you_ to the Light if you do not repent.” Caevitus intoned this with a sense of finality, raising his right hand in an imperious gesture. His eyes shone so brightly Romuul had to squint to keep from being blinded. And then, there was silence.

Velen strode into the room after having mass silenced everyone like a boss, staff in hand and long caterpillar eyebrows furrowed.

“Children, please. What is going on here?”

Caevitus gaped, clenching and unclenching his hand while Romuul’s anger ebbed away.

“Prophet,” said Romuul as he bowed his head in reverence. The rest of the room did the same, save Caevitus who looked beyond words at having his abilities dampened. “This… is exactly what it looks like.” Romuul folded his arms, eyes glinting ominously.

“It looks like a misunderstanding.” said Velen gently, approaching the clustered three. “Makios. It saddens me to find you in the center of conflict.”

“P-Prophet, I can explain…!” Makios bowed his head but Velen raised it with a finger under his chin.

“Shh, my child. Do not fret.” Sharp lilac eyes turned to Caevitus, and Velen’s kindly face hardened. “Why do you disturb the peace?”

“He started it.” Caevitus pointed at Romuul, who let out a harsh, barking laugh.

“Oh, Light preserve me! It is an imbecile.”

“ROMUUL!” Velen snapped, and the Grand Artificer winced.

“Eep.”

“Sit down.” said Velen, clicking his fingers at Caevitus and then Romuul. “You too.” Romuul obeyed without question, and only after Makios tugged at his wrist did Caevitus take a seat. Velen steepled his long purple fingers and eyed the Lightborn Draenei. “Now, then. Where did you come from?”

“Where do you think?” Caevitus snapped, curling his tail around Makios’s thick waist. “The Light.”

“Oh, yes, the Light. Not that I’d know _anything_ about that.” Velen rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You seem to be lost, friend.”

“You are no friend of mine.” Caevitus growled. “I know only Makios, and Makios knows me.” He put his arm around Makios’s shoulders to demonstrate. Velen’s gaze slid to the priest.

“Uhhh… y-yes, Prophet, he is my friend. I was praying last night, and he came to me.”

Velen narrowed his eyes. “I have heard of this only vaguely.”

“What were you praying for?” Romuul interrupted, much to Velen’s chagrin. “A giant grey jerk with a towel around his waist?”

“Listen…” Makios leaned forwards, raising one finger.

“No.” Velen put his hand out for silence. “We do not ask such things, Romuul.” The Grand Artificer pouted at that, and Caevitus smirked. “The Light blesses those it deems fit. And you, Makios, are very much deserving of someone like this.” Velen looked to Caevitus, wonderment in his aged voice. “A protector, someone to keep you safe and remain by your side at all times.”

“You envisioned this, didn’t you.” Makios muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You did not ask.” said Velen with a smile, and reached out to pat Makios on the head. Caevitus swiftly grasped the Prophet’s hand in a vice grip, and Velen nodded, calm. “Excellent reflexes. Do release me.”

Caevitus glanced to Makios, who nodded quickly and breathed easier once the Prophet was free.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Makios blathered. “I-I just got him a few hours ago, I didn’t know he would be so… aggressive?”

“I am not aggressive.” Caevitus folded his thick, bare arms and looked away. “I serve.”

“Sure you do.” Romuul snickered. “In what army? You certainly lack the proper respect-”

“Prophet, can I twist his neck?” asked Caevitus, having picked up by now the general manner in which people addressed this venerable Draenei.

“No!” Makios wrapped his arms around Caevitus and shook his head. “Light, why are you so bloodthirsty? Romuul means no harm!”

 _“This_ is Romuul?” Caevitus stared at him. “Why would you ever wish to speak to such an unpleasant creature?”

“Because,” said Romuul, looking triumphant. “Constructed assholes are _my_ specialty, and you fit the criteria _just so_.”

“Don’t say that.” Makios whispered. “He doesn’t know any better.”

“Indeed.” said Velen, accepting a cup of coffee offered by a random passerby. “Be kind to those less fortunate.”

Romuul and Caevitus glared daggers at each other, while Makios finished off his breakfast and wondered just what he was getting into.


	16. Silithus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when you get gkicked mid event and somehow have to tie up loose ends without retconning anything :eyeroll:

It was time.

****

**_‘They sleep. They will not know.’_ **

 

Makios nodded in the darkness, sitting up and moving only his eyes to survey his surroundings. The twenty or so members of his Order slept peacefully, so exhausted from running around Silithus all day that not even the clack of hooves against wooden flooring could wake them.

 

**_‘Go. Go now.’_ **

 

He worked quickly, peeling back the blankets to reveal two large bundles of Azerite, each wrapped in cloth so dark not a single ray of light could escape it. Shadoweave, the exact same kind his shirt and pants were made of. They kept him cool and collected as he worked, and also offered quite a stylish purple tint to what would otherwise be an unusually gothic Summer outfit.

 

His Order had come here to assist the Alliance Expedition and learn about the Azerite, a new substance stirred from the depths of Azeroth’s core when Sargeras had stuck his sword into it. Makios had helped them as he always did, but upon close inspection of an Azerite crystal he’d been reprimanded as if little more than a child.

 

_’Don’t eat it, you fool! What’s wrong with you?’_

 

Usually he would’ve hung his head and apologized like a good boy. Usually. But as of late, he’d been noticing things. Barely anyone in his Order respected him, least of all the Exarch who never seemed to recognize the good Makios did with his Light-based healing. No, he only ever noticed when Makios did something wrong, such as mercy-killing tortured prisoners who were _begging_ to die or shying from combat that could’ve taken his life.

 

It was not fair. And Makios had had enough.

 

Holding the Azerite made him feel something. It was like his cowardice melted away the longer he stared at the crystal, rubbing his thumb along the gold and blue sides of it in wonderment. Thoughts blossomed in his mind of glory and valiance, of recognition for his deeds and a version of his life where he felt secure. Safe. Welcome. Loved.

 

He’d not brought his scythe to Silithus – an ancient artifact from Mac’Aree, the Scythe of the High Wakener. Used in Soulbinding and summoning the trapped spirits of two Constellars who could turn the tide in any battle. He kept that thing at home, and was glad he had because _boy_ was he tempted to take someone’s life tonight. Holding the azerite close gave him the courage he needed, but what little Light remained in his darkened mind urged him against it. He had to be strong. A paragon of justice. A good lad.

 

‘ ** _But for who_**?’

 

It was, indeed, time. He slid out of bed, floorboards creaking beneath his solid hooves as he exited the barracks with his azerite, sunhat and staff. Alright, it was a walking stick he’d picked up in Feralas, but it looked cool. Let him live.

 

Makios cast his blank gaze to the innocent, sleeping Draenei behind him. Some were his friends – or friendly acquaintances, anyway. Others? He’d gladly see fall in battle. The Shadows were whispering to him, urging his darkest desires to take shape. He had his dagger, Horngore the Ender, strapped to his thigh. But now was not the time. He had to make off with this Azerite before anyone thought to stop him – at close range, he would be well and truly fucked if a plate-wearing Paladin decided they wanted mincemeat out of his tail.

 

He levitated himself up an inch with a touch of holy magic, floating down the stairs which had threatened to break under his weight once before. All the wood in this blasted place was dry and brittle. Dangerous. He couldn’t take any chances. It was a bit unwieldy to manage all the things he was carrying, but he didn’t know how the Azerite would react to being lifted by the Light. The Exarch had forbidden experimenting with the stuff. Bastard.

 

 ** _‘It will all be undone._** ’

 

“Oh, shut up.” Makios hissed under his breath, freezing as something clicked behind him. Out from behind the barracks strode two shadowy figures, hunched and wearing nothing but tattered purple cloaks. Their naked, shriveled bodies glistened with sweat, and as Makios turned he noted them to be Krokul. The same ones who’d been following him for months since the incident on Argus. Would they _ever_ leave?

 

“Anchorite.” Said Gavuun, the one on the left. “Where are you going?” In his hand he held a standard-issue Boomstick, a sawed-off gun that could be operated with two fingers. Krokul had three. And Makios’s hands were full.

Drawing himself up to his full height of eight and a half feet, Makios glowered down at the two Krokul.

“How _dare_ you point that thing at me?”

Gavuun and Bhaatok exchanged glances. This indignant confidence was new. And mighty suspicious.

“The Shadows grip you.” Bhaatok noted.

“And?” Makios clutched the Azerite closer to his chest, letting his tail keep hold of his stick. “I am a _Priest_ , in case you didn’t know. We use both Light and Shadow to-”

 

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Gavuun interrupted Makios and that was the last straw. Gentle golden eyes narrowed to thin purple slits and when he spoke, the Anchorite’s voice was full of hate.

“I’ve just about had enough of you.” His tail lashed to the right, and from the tip of his staff came an eerie purple glow that drew Gavuun’s attention at once. “You worthless, disgusting… **v’shaaq gshkshkn il’kazcsnrrk!”** The glow vanished as soon as it had come, energies invisible to the untrained eye shooting out at the two Krokul and diving down their throats. It crushed them from within, filling their minds with black despair and endless, endless screaming. Gavuun’s fingers twitched and the Boomstick fell to the ground, thankfully with the safety lock on so it didn’t explode. Bhaatok’s eyes rolled back into his head and he convulsed violently, somehow standing in place as his limbs twitched and dark blue ichor seeped from his ears. He opened his mouth to cry and only coughed up blood, emptying the contents of his sodden lungs out onto the ground before faceplanting into it, shivering. Gavuun stared at Makios, reaching a hand out to him that was rapidly deteriorating into nothing but skin and bone. Then, not even skin. It melted off him, sloughing off in bluish-black strips until the Krokul was little more than a skeleton curled into a ball.

But Makios wasn’t finished yet. The Shadows weren’t finished yet.

 

He needed a free hand for this – so Makios set down the Azerite, curling the bulk of his tail around the two bundles to keep them secure. He no longer looked the part of the innocent, chubby Priest – his hands were clawed, nails lengthened in the shadows so dark not even moonlight would illuminate them. Elune had fucked off for the day. She didn’t get paid enough to deal with this shit. His golden blonde hair looked white and stringy, sticking to his face in a mixture of sweat and translucent, lilac-tinted energies.

“ **Come,”** Makios growled in Shath’yar. **“Join us.”** The clawed fingers clenched into a fist, and in one smooth motion the Krokul’s tormented souls were ripped from their bodies. Makios forced them to bend under his will – the Light had abandoned them long ago, so they had nowhere to flee. And then he shoved them into his mouth, which by now resembled a twisted, jagged maw as the Void covered his entire being in thick, tenebrous goop. He knew not what this urge was to consume, devour, rend and tear. But he did, uncontrollable hunger driving him to absorb what meager power the Krokul had and assimilate it with his own life force. His very ancient, corruptible life force.

The surge of energy that ran through him was _glorious_. Tentacles burst from his shoulders and flailed with renewed vigor, all the while his hooves carried him and his Azerite far, far away from the Alliance settlement. He slid weightlessly along the sand, leaving a trail of violet energy up until he met Kalimdor’s Western sea. He sought no passage away but rather found himself a nice rocky outcropping within which he could hide. And so he hid all throughout the night, giggling softly as he was pulled deeper and deeper into madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah Makios 'too dark' Makison is now guildless. if anyone has a Draenei-centric guild that isn't elitist as fuck just let me know if you're recruiting bskldfkhdhkl


End file.
